We Dance with Death, we Furyans
by NajaMoonshadow
Summary: Anore is Furyan, hidden away on Crematoria for years, forced to live a lie, she finds herself part of a universe that has changed beyond recognition...Riddick/Kyra/Anatoli/The Purifier/Anore
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I don't own the Riddick universe or it's characters, I am making no profit...yadda, yadda, yadda..._

_Author's Note: To all who hereby tread :) This is an unusual story, even for me. I don't know where ideas come from, but this one nagged me until I wrote it down, so here it is, humbly, to be shared with you, dear reader. Read the synopsis and depart if you like, but please, give it a chance! Thanks!_

Synopsis: Riddick might feel alone, but he's less alone than he thinks. Another Furyan escaped the destruction of their world, and also managed to escape the clutches of the Necromongers. She ends up on Crematoria, because like Riddick, she just can't stay out of trouble :) The story describes her life, ten years after her arrival on Crematoria. Things have not been easy for her, a simple fling ended in pregnancy and she finds herself the pseudo-wife of Anatoli, owner of the famous 'nose', a position she finds disquieting for a number of reasons. Now the universe is changing around her, old fears find themselves new again, and Anore must learn to accept life's path for herself and her child...and find the Furyan in herself again. 

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Chapter 1

Anore'Et Fet'Brissa woke as she always did. One moment she was sleeping deeply and completely, and the next moment she was awake, eyes open and staring into the dark at the ceiling above her head. Another day began on the super-heated prison world of Crematoria. As she lay there, she registered that the man beside her still slept, his breathing deep and even, dreaming giant dreams. Anatoli mumbled something incoherent and sighed in his sleep and she lay still until she was sure he hadn't wakened.

A deeper listening revealed that all was as it should be in the prison complex and she heard the others of the Crematoria Prison Guard and Keeper Crew in their rooms down the hall snoring, or rolling over. Her baby, Orla was still sleeping; her soft breathes reassuring Anore that all was well. If she closed her eyes and listened hard, she could hear the prison animal guards or Hellhounds, two levels below, howling in their cages—they were hungry…they were always hungry. The air processors continued their almost inaudible steady hum and someone was shouting down the on the prison complex level. No surprise, the one place in Crematoria that was never completely silent was the prison complex. Anore knew the sounds of that place well too…years of experience had ingrained them in her memory.

Moving in absolute silence, Anore slid away from Anatoli and rose, without waking him. He was quite used to her rising before him and she doubted he'd have woken even if she'd gotten up screaming at the top of her lungs—little interrupted his slumber once he slept. The baby, however, was another matter. When Anore carefully pulled up the door panel and peeked into the child's sleeping niche, bright silvery eyes greeted her. She smiled and blinked, flexing an involuntary muscle deep inside her eye tissue. When her lids drew back, her own eyes glittered quicksilver blue and she could see her child, smiling back at her, in the darkness, the colors of the rainbow catching and reflecting off her skin and the walls around her. Orla, a precocious almost-three years old, stood up and stretched her arms up to her mother, all without speaking. She knew well enough by now that if she was quiet, her and her mother got a little private time, before the others woke.

Anore dressed them both silently, noting that it was a little earlier than usual, just after four thirty in the morning and was pleased they have more time that morning. She had a special errand, down the kennels and was glad to have extra time. She left their rooms, Orla resting on her hip, silver eyes glittering like tiny mercury dots in the dark and her mother's own dark-defying vision picking a silent, quick route out of the sleeping quarters and into the kitchens. She retrieved enough breakfast for three and left the kitchens, taking a narrow, chiseled staircase two steps at a time, heading down first one flight, then along a narrow, cramped passageway and to another long staircase. All was in darkness, all was quiet; the prison complex was still on its rotational 'night' cycle that saved power and therefore, money.

At the bottom, another darkened corridor met their eyes and they moved swiftly along it, Anore's tall, strong body as quick, agile and quiet as a cat's. Anore could hear the howls of the Hellhounds as they approached their enclosure, though two feet of solid steel and stone acted as a noise barrier. The door was unguarded, despite the fact that a prisoner of the human nature was in the Hellhound cages as well. There was no need for a guard, really, the cages were meant to withstand the escape tricks of something much larger, much meaner and much more determined than one small human.

The noise as they entered was horrendous and Orla covered her ears, making a face and Anore laughed silently at her. Setting the child on the dirty floor she held her hand with one of her own and used the other to key up the lights. Brightness flooded the darkened space and Anore automatically flexed her silvery night-lenses up, revealing dark gray eyes beneath. Orla hadn't yet learned to control the flex and had closed her eyes tightly against the painful brilliance, until Anore reached down and applied gentle pressure to a sensitive spot on each of her daughter's eyelids and the lenses flicked back. Orla's own eyes were Anatoli's rich, clear green.

"Let me the fuck out of here!" A voice, high pitched and female, rose above the shrieking of the Hellhounds and Anore grinned.

"Watch that mouth girl, there's a child in the room and she picks up enough bad language from her father!" Anore scolded and led Orla by the hand. The Hellhounds enclosure was a long, high room stacked with heavy metal cages, each big enough to house a small elephant. In each cage was one, very cramped Hellhound. As they passed each cage, Anore had to keep a firm grip on Orla, who wanted to greet her friends properly and was distinctly annoyed that her mother wouldn't let her run to the huge beasts, snarling and slavering in the cages. Anore knew, though, what Orla couldn't possibly understand at her young age—some things are best kept to one's self, some things are best kept secret. Even from deeply trusted, human friends. It was better for everyone.

They were near the back of the kennels when Anore spotted a human hand clutching the rusted and thoroughly battered metal bars and squatted down before the cage. Inside was a long, lanky girl of about seventeen, her narrow, boyish face coated in grime and sweat, her long filthy hair hanging down to her waist in tight curls. Bright, hawk-like brown eyes peered out at them.

"Nor!" Kyra greeted her happily, a genuine smile on her hard, youthful face. Orla grinned happily, giggling and sticking her hands through the cage bars for Kyra to kiss and playfully bite.

"I brought you breakfast." Anore told the girl and passed a wrapped package of bacon, scrambled egg and cheese biscuits.

"Oh god I love you!" Kyra crowed happily, "I'm starving. Your worthless boy-toy and the Brute Squad didn't feed me yesterday!" She snatched package and squatted on her heels to eat it, ravenously and with as much tact and manners as the huge beasts snarling in their cages on either side of her. Orla unwrapped her own breakfast and ate with as much ravenous attention as Kyra, though the baby ate better and more often than the criminal ever had.

"Dada said you were bad." Orla announced cheerfully as she ate. She was very used to hearing her father slandered by the crass Kyra. In fact, though she didn't understand the reasons, she was used to hearing just about _everyone_ slander her father. Anore grinned and swallowed her last bite.

"Aunt Kyra was bad baby, she's a _bad_ girl." Anore encouraged the child, who chortled and Kyra stuck her tongue out at Anore, before swallowing the rest of her biscuit in a rude, noisy gulp.

"Not any worse than you!" Kyra replied, an edge behind her tease and Anore nodded cheerfully. Kyra was rather like a daughter or a sister to Anore, and their teasing was always edged, a silent battle always raging underneath—though the affection they shared was powerful and genuine on both sides.

"Oh, I can't argue that. I got ten to your four!" She replied easily, both knowing what she meant while Orla could remain clueless.

"Seven." Kyra corrected.

"The last three don't count—they didn't fight back." Anore said and snorted at the rude gesture Kyra made when Orla wasn't looking. "But anyway, you're out of here today."

"I can't wait!" Kyra snarled, truthfully. "And tell Anatoli that if those goons get near me again, next time there won't be enough left of them to lock me up in here!"

"I'll tell him. And remind him that if he wants to wake up in the morning still…_intact_, he'd better keep his extra-curricular activities confined to me." Anore added viciously, eyes brightening with dangerous mirth at the prospect and Kyra laughed, shaking her head.

"He doesn't join in the kinky stuff, just the fighting. He likes a good fight. Or rather, he participates in getting his ass—butt—kicked." Kyra shot a guilty look at Orla but the little girl wasn't paying attention. Orla had hunkered down and was playing with a thoroughly chewed bone of unknown origin, so Kyra leaned forward and pressed her face into the bars, whispering as well as she could over the constant, deafening screaming of the Hellhounds. "Did you get them?"

"I did." Anore shot a glance at her daughter, who was banging the bone against a dented metal dish and laughing hysterically all the while. One hand snaked into the waistband of her trousers and reappeared, disappearing between the bars in one smooth, lightning quick motion. Kyra made the object disappear equally fast, smiling faintly.

"Thanks."

"Always happy to help a fellow inmate." Anore whispered back, and then sighed. A glance at the clock said that it was almost 5:10 and she'd better be in the kitchens making breakfast before the Crew got up, or else they might get suspicious. "Take care of yourself, until next time my _enta_."

"And you too _ra-enta_." Kyra whispered back, giving the hand that Anore slid through the bars an affectionate squeeze. "And you, runt." She stuck her hand out and poked Orla in the belly, making the little girl squeal with laughter and dodge to avoid the tickling fingers. "Be good to your mother, she works hard."

"I'm good, Dada calls me angel." she announced and allowed herself to be gathered up amidst the scornful snorting of her disbelieving mother. As she left, Anore shut off the lights and made sure that no sign of their visit was visible, before she reminded Orla in her most serious voice to remember that she couldn't tell _anybody_ that they went to see Kyra. She warned her child that it would make her father, her gentle Dada, very, _very_ angry and the mean Boss would be even madder. Orla might be too little to understand the vicious rules of Prison Politics, but she knew frightening anger well enough and she had a good handle on secrets. Her instinctual hatred of the Boss helped as well. Not once, in all her small years, had she _ever_ hinted to anyone that she and her mother were better acquainted with the Hellhounds and their kennels than anyone else. It was the one secret that the small child could remember to keep and thankfully, her young mind was so full of distractions that her father's famous 'intuition' couldn't sense the secret. And Anore…Anore had more than enough practice keeping Anatoli's psychic reach at bay. She had so many secrets…a trifling one like theft and subterfuge was no trouble. Anore sighed and turned on the lights in the kitchens, two levels above. Unfortunately, it was the least worrisome secret that Orla would ever have and _certainly_ the least dangerous.

When the Brute Squad had come and fed the ravenous Hellhounds their meat and bones and departed again, Kyra inspected the bundle that Anore had given her. The contents were exactly what Kyra had asked for and the girl grinned a savage, icy grin. Anore could always be counted on to pick the very best blades and the cigarettes and phials of medicine she'd managed to steal were always good quality. Kyra stashed them away about her person, stowing the small razors and bits of sharpened metal away in unlikely places and stashing the rest in her shoes, and then disposed of the packaging by shoving it through the bars and into the cage next to hers, where it was instantly shredded by the furious Hellhound occupant.

Kyra hadn't lied when she said she couldn't wait to be free of the kennels. Not only was it the most horrendous noise she'd ever heard, but the smell was as thick as a morgue and not unlike that sweet rotting meat stench of a body-pit. Now, with the hounds recently fed, the smell was enhanced by fresh blood, raw meat and the sounds were of snarling and crunching bones instead of screaming. Still…she knew that these visits were entirely necessary since Anore wasn't allowed 'downstairs' anymore. And little Orla…_Aunt Kyra. _Kyra smiled and reached through the bars, scraping her fingers along the floor, inching towards the bone that the child had been playing with. Painstakingly she dragged it in reach with her fingertips, then picked it up. Then, selecting a strong, sharp blade, she began scraping away at the bone. Five years in a triple-max slam like Crematoria had given her time for many hobbies and carving was one of them. What should she give the child? She thought about Orla and smiled faintly. A pretty child and very sweet. Kyra couldn't imagine how such a child could possibly be the spawn of Anatoli Gustavavich. Though, Anore was more than good enough to make up for Anatoli's genetic contributions. Kyra grinned savagely and chiseled a chip from the bone, blowing on the hole she'd made. Maybe a whistle, or a pipe? The bone was just long enough and with that strong piece of metal drill she'd managed to steal, she could hollow out the marrow and make a few blow holes—enough to make a weak sound. Orla wouldn't mind the inadequacy of the instrument—being able to make noise would be enough for her. And Anore would appreciate that the sound was _weak_—Kyra grinned and whittled away at the pipe for a moment longer.

With a sigh, Kyra stashed the bone and blade away, or else be caught with it and have to explain where the shiny metal had come from and get her friends in trouble. Friends…what a strange word. Kyra didn't have many friends, or at least, she didn't have many friends that didn't ask anything back for their favors. Though Anore was the one person in the universe that Kyra trusted almost implicitly, Kyra supposed she also ranked amongst those who were getting something back. Her thefts were direct stabs into prison funds…she wanted payback against her prison keepers. Revenge, after all, was the oldest motive in the world for rebellion.

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End Note: Thanks for reading, please review! Naja


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Nope, still not mine. See first disclaimer for details :)

Author's Note: thanks for reading this strange little tale, it really is writing itself, sometimes I feel like I'm just along for the ride. Whatever, it's fun to write anyways, Anore is quite a loud character, she's been practically screaming in my head, what a relief to let her out! Anyways, yeah, read, enjoy...or don't, whatever :)

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Anore sighed heavily and scrubbed harder at the stain on the kitchen counter. One of the Brute Squad—as Kyra had 'affectionately' named them—had deposited a greasy metal part from the air processors on her counter. Her scolding had made the part and the man disappear in record time, but the oily stain refused to budge. With a snarl of frustration she tossed the brush aside and stared at the malignant spot that was still _there_, after ten minutes of bleach and scrubbing. She knew she should leave it—it was very late and she was tired and ready for bed. Everyone else had departed the kitchen after dinner, hours ago. All the dishes were done and the morning's prep was finished—but that damned _stain_!

A sound, soft and furtive. Cold metal was in her hand and she whirled, blade sliding under the upraised, defending arm, aiming for the unprotected throat—"Damnit 'Toli." She snapped, dropping her crouch and the blade from his neck. "One of these days." The huge man laughed easily, catching her up in his arms and giving her a quick, affectionate kiss. She didn't return it, annoyed with him still. She tucked the knife back into its sheath beneath her shirt and he took the opportunity to slide his finger along her bared back, smiling and planting a more lingering kiss on her shoulder.

"Orla—" She began, pointing at the corner where the child was curled, slumbering soundly.

"Is sleeping." He interrupted her remonstration and pulled her around for a warm embrace, which she submitted to with as much grace as she ever did. She had to admit, he was good enough her cheeks were rather warm and she was thinking rather lecherous thoughts when he finally let her go. She gave him an arch look and turned, he swatted her behind and she squealed in stinging surprise. For all of his size—standing well above her six foot—and massive frame, he was quite nimble when he chose to be and was out of her reach when she whirled to strike at him. Smiling, she stuck her tongue out at him and firmly turned her back on him, to glare at the stubborn oil spot. He peered over her shoulder at it, laughing at her, breath warm against her neck.

"I thought that the meat tasted funny tonight." He said into her hair, "I didn't know it was stewed Misha and his engine bits." She elbowed him in the stomach.

"Complain about my cooking and you can cook for yourself." She hissed in a venomous whisper, he laughed again and pinned her arms to her sides—he could have broken her ribs with one squeeze if he tried, but she knew he wouldn't. He was too frightened of her. She smirked.

"God forbid." He murmured pleasantly. Sometimes, she thought, it was hard to tell the difference between the two men that made up Anatoli. She knew for a fact that he spent a lot of his time picking brutal fights with the prisoners below—after all, it was how they had met. He and the others had picked a fight with her—it had ended rather badly for his friends, and for him, but it had led to something neither of them had expected. From Kyra's reports though, that incident had been unique, his infidelity was reserved for leering looks but he was still quite capable of beating the convicts into bloody pulp. Though she had to admit—he always fought fair. But he fought vicious. The other side was this one, the one that was tender and that sang children's songs to Orla in Russian, who had been so patient with their colicky baby, who was such a gentle, submissive lover and so very patient with _her_. She sighed. It was exhausting sometimes. She hated him and yet she didn't hate him. She hoped, one day, that she wouldn't have to kill him.

"What are you thinking?" He asked softly, one hand stroking her belly in soft, rhythmic strokes like he'd done when she was pregnant. It was a rather comforting movement and she relaxed back against him—as much as she ever relaxed.

"About you." She said truthfully, not bothering to soften her voice or her tone. "Not good thoughts." She added, just to tease him and she felt him smiling in her hair.

"I love you." He said softly and she was vaguely surprised. He usually only said the dreaded words after sex, when he was bleary with afterglow. She controlled the urge to stiffen, but couldn't help pulling free of him and putting a little distance between them. She hated those words and he knew it, but, as he'd told her many times, not to say them felt like a lie. He looked at her then, with hooded green eyes in his big face looking at her intensely, watchfully. Orla, she noticed, had gotten his nose, though she'd shown no tendencies towards the psychic one that made him so useful. She hoped the child didn't share _too_ many traits with her father, though she also knew, her own blood was quite strong enough to overrule Anatoli's. His somber face made her heart twist faintly in sorrow. Sometimes, though she'd never admit it, she wished she could say it back to him and mean it. But, as _she_ had told _him_, saying the words to him was a lie and while lies bothered her not at all, _that_ lie was not one she could live with.

She began to busy herself, knowing she should gather her child and go to bed, but not ready to be alone with Anatoli in the dark. Sex would feel inappropriate and alien in her present mood. She began, instead, to combine ingredients in a bowl, throwing together flour, sugar and vanilla powder in what she supposed might become pancakes for the morning. She felt him looming behind her and twisted away from him before he could embrace her again.

"Don't be angry with me." He asked softly, his face lowered until he looked at her from beneath the heavy fringe of his bangs. She remembered every time he'd given her that look. It was always distracting. She scowled and looked up at him.

"I'm not." She said and then sighed, dropping the scowl. "I'm sorry Anatoli." She said it and meant it.

"Not sorry enough." He said and she gave him a look that might have felled a lesser man where he stood. He only backed up a step, crossing his arms. "And so we begin again."

"No, we're _not_ beginning again." She said firmly and gave him a grim smile. "Not now, or ever. This discussion—"

"Is not closed Anore!" he hissed savagely and she could see temper flashing in his eyes. His accent always thickened when he was angry, and right now his words were blurring into his native Russian. She straightened, meeting his angry gaze squarely, her tall, unforgiving frame facing him solidly and with hostile intent. He glared at her for a long moment, but dropped his eyes from her challenging gaze. He knew, even if no one else did, that she _could_ kill him and _would_, if he pushed her too far. He might not like it, but he knew her affectionate tolerance for him didn't extend to allowing him _any_ sort of dominance or control. And that was part of his frustration, but also his love. "Why?"

"I have _told_ you." She said firmly though not unkindly and went back to her bowl of ingredients, stirring with enough force to slosh flour over the sides. She cursed fiercely and shot a guilty glance at the corner where her daughter slept, but Orla was still slumbering peacefully, her favorite blanket wrapped firmly around her, oblivious to her parent's heated exchange.

"But I don't understand. It's been fifteen years Anore. Fifteen years! He's dead!" He said it gently, tentatively but she rounded on him in fury.

"It doesn't matter Anatoli! Why _can't _you get that through your thick head!" She snarled angrily, "Fifteen years, thirty years, the _rest_ of my _life_! Time makes no difference and it never will."

"But I give you so much more!"Anatoli refused to back down tonight and she could see genuine anger and hurt in his face and felt a flash of ugly guilt. "I give you home, freedom, our baby Anore—Orla, our most precious blessing." He gave his slumbering child such a look of unconditional love that none of the convicts below would have believed it of the often crude, vicious man. "He give you nothing but pain, grief. He is dead Anore. Your man is dead but _I _am not." He was approaching her slowly; like one would approach a wary wild-cat and when she tensed he froze. He knew her far too well.

"It doesn't matter." She hissed softly, wishing he could understand. "It doesn't matter that he's dead. Please Anatoli…." She lifted her eyes to meet his and sighed heavily. There was a long, tense silence in which they regarded one another, waiting for one or the other to move. "You can have my body Anatoli, but I can't give you my soul. Not even for Orla can I give you that, because I had already given it when I met you and he did not give it back to me when he died. There's nothing I can do about that." _How true that is_ she thought sadly. No amount of wishing would make it untrue and the most sorrowful thing about it was that she still loved him, as passionately fifteen years later as the day he'd died. And the pain had never lessened. And these fights with her lover made it only that much worse. She wished he would just _understand_. He was looking at her, his face expressionless but massive body quivering with unexpressed anger and hurt. She wondered if she could somehow warn the convicts that his mood would be even more volatile and violent in the morning. "Anatoli…."

"But I will never be _him_ will I? This is what you say. I'm not _good_ enough. No matter how I love you, you not care." His words were dark and she almost flinched, but stood her ground, continuing mixing and pouring the pancake batter into tubs to put into the refrigerators. She sensed his rage but felt no fear of it—more guilt than anything, she decided.

"Anatoli—I _do_ care about you." She said as truthfully as she could and sensed the minor explosion inside him, the controlled violence in his muscles—if he came at her, she would be ready. But he wouldn't. She could see him even now, retreating into self-pity.

"But that is not _enough_."

"It has to be." She said coldly, sparing his feelings not at all.

"It does." He snarled and stormed out. The mood he left behind was painful and angry and she wasn't surprised to hear vague thumps resonating behind him as he punched the stone walls. She sighed, cleaned up her mess and surveyed the kitchen. The room was cramped, but it was as close to her real home as she could come. The long table where they all ate was as close to family as she'd ever gotten and she made sure that no foul words were said around her child. She hated every single face amongst them—especially her lover at the moment—and couldn't wait for the day when she could escape Crematoria, preferably taking most of the convicts with her. Especially Kyra, the girl-child who was so tough yet so vulnerable. She chose to think about the girl, instead of her own rage, turning off the lights, flicking her night-lenses down over her gray irises and gathered her slumbering child up.

Kyra's past had never been revealed in the five years she'd been in the prison, but she had spoken once of a man named Wren or Ridden or something with the awe that hinted he was an idolized older brother, or something like it. Kyra had said she'd been looking for him when she'd gotten caught in a mess and ended up in prison. Anore knew that 'mess' had included the bloody slaughter of seven people, though from the way Kyra spoke of them, Anore could guess they'd been slavers, or worse. Kyra was an animal not unlike Anore herself—though with some very obvious differences—and when the girl had arrived at the prison, Anore had still been a convict and had did her best to cushion the girl's fall from grace. Kyra had proved a ready, if clumsy, pupil in the ways of killing and Anore had been happy to teach her…and Kyra had even proved a good friend when Anore had ended up pregnant. _Mistake_. The word popped into her mind and she felt instantly guilty, the heavy weight of her baby's head against her chest, the trusting face and sweet smile made her feel like a heel. _Unexpected_ she amended. Not a mistake, just an unexpected curve in her road.

It was almost funny, she thought as she laid her slumbering child in her niche and closed the door, how it had all come about. She undressed and crawled into the empty bed, stretching out luxuriously in the space left by her lover. She laughed softly, knowing it wasn't funny, but unable to help it. Anatoli was probably sleeping off his temper in the control room and she didn't miss him—she always slept better when she slept alone. She let out a slow, relaxing breath and sunk into the hard mattress as well as she could, then studied the ceiling thoughtfully. Ten years. She had lived in this underground hell for ten years. The time was coming when she would leave. Soon. She didn't know how she knew, but after all her years she knew better than to question. Perhaps some of Anatoli's second sight was rubbing off on her. She and Orla would be leaving…she didn't know about Anatoli.

A part of her felt sorry that she couldn't return his affection. He didn't know it, but some of her anger at his puppy-like love was her frustration at her own emotional inadequacies. She lifted her left hand in the dark, her silvery eyes seeing the familiar appendage as easily as if it were full light. She had big hands, strong hands, the only mark of personal attention the abruptly short fingernails. The skin itself was a map of her life, the scars, the marks of a hard, unforgiving existence. And one dark pattern that wasn't accidental. She traced the pattern on the palm of her left hand, so faded now with time that it was almost gone, just a faint, brownish dance of swirls and lines and dots. And a tree, full, leafy, branching and stretching towards an invisible sky. In another few years, she doubted it would even show against her skin—though _she_ would know it was still there.

"Niv'Et." She said softly, using her peoples' word for 'husband'. It came out as a whisper filled with a yearning she couldn't quite express in words. The twining branches and leaves and curving symbol branded on her flesh by raw power was only a symbol of something deeper. She rested her palm against her heart, feeling an age old agony there. One that would never go away, no matter what she wished. Closing her eyes, she pictured the face that had first won her heart, then stolen it and taken it with him to the grave. She didn't regret their life-bond or the absolute love they had shared, but sometimes, just sometimes, she regretted she'd ever met him. Egean. Her soul's other half, her bonded life-mate. Her people didn't choose mates easily, but when one was found, like her Egean…it was forever. She closed her eyes, against the dark burning behind them.

Anatoli was right. Fifteen years was a long time to mourn a husband. It was also a long time to mourn the loss of something greater than that—the realization that she and she alone, was the last of the Pure, the last of her kind. She sighed, rolled over and held her hand to her heart, and fell into an uneasy slumber.

_An expanse of fearsome, barren desert rolled before her. She knew this dream and felt her stomach tighten, her heart throb in her chest. Graves. Thousands upon thousands of graves fell away before her. This land had once been trees and fields, oceans, mountains—it had been a world once. A living breathing world. Her world. She turned in a slow circle, seeing a single tree, twisted, mutilated and dead. Beneath it stood a figure. With slow but confident steps, Anore climbed the hill to meet the woman who waited for her. As always, the woman was facing away from her, looking out at the gray, burned graveyard planet. _

_ "Soon." The woman said softly. "It is coming." _

_ "What is coming?" Anore asked, trying to go closer, trying to go around to face the woman. Her feet wouldn't move, her body frozen against her will. A hot wind, hot and dry and filled with the stench of death stirred the dust beneath her feet, made the dead branches above her head scream as if in agony. _

_ "Soon it will be time. Time to remember what happened here." _

_ "I _know_ what happened here." Anore said coldly, angrily. "I remember." _

_ "But he does not. He is the key." _

_ "Who?" Anore demanded, trying to free herself. The woman stirred and for one moment Anore thought she'd turn and face her. _

_ "Him. You must be his guide, his aid. You must help him. Join him." The woman stirred again and began to turn…a brilliant, hot blue light slammed into Anore's breast, she felt, for an instant, all of time and space and life stretching out around her in one agonizing flash and then-_

She snapped awake, tense and listening before she realized a heavy body was lowering itself into her bed and warmth along her back indicated Anatoli had returned; she shifted, rolling over. It was still late—or early—and it was unusual for Anatoli to return to their bed after _that_ particular fight. He usually sulked at least till lunch.

"Are you sleeping?" His heavy, Russian voice was soft, though Orla's niche was soundproofed so she couldn't hear the goings on in her parent's room. Anore sighed in slight irritation.

"I was." She replied, though not as unkindly as she might have. It took a lot of control to pull the heavy sarcasm from her voice. He was silent for a while longer, his chest touching her side as he breathed in an out, slowly. She had half decided that he had nothing else to say when he drew in a breath and spoke.

"I'm sorry Anore." He sounded genuine, but she couldn't use her night-lenses…if even an iota of light reflected off the lenses and he saw them, she was in deep trouble. She said nothing, just waited and finally he drew another breath. "I know…I can't…I…"

"I know." She said softly and forgave him, for the crime of loving her at least. It wasn't his fault really, it was hers, but she didn't know how to fix it, or take it back. "I'm sorry too." She meant it. His hand landed blindly on her arm, his fingers tracing their way up until he cupped her cheek.

"I do love you." He told her gently, "And I wish I didn't."

"I wish you didn't too." She said honestly and he laughed softly, though there was no mirth in it. His mouth found hers in the dark, but the kiss didn't turn into something else. Instead, he drew her against him, his big arms cradling her as if she was a child and he fell into slumber easily and completely, his conscience soothed. It was how he was. She wished he wasn't so sincere. She studied the ceiling in the dark, knowing she spent most of her time making fruitless wishes. She felt she'd made more wishes than anyone had any right too. But as was the case with wishes, they always went unanswered. Even the ones she wished for the most.

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End Note: Thank you and please come again:) review...Naja


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own anything and no, I'm still not making any profit...just enjoying playing havoc in their realm:)

Author's Note: Thanks for reading, here's chapter three! And thanks to you guys, who favorited it, I'm glad you're enjoying it!

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Anore gritted her teeth in irritation as the Boss glared at her. She hated that man more than any of the others—hated his oily, leering face, his slick biting weasel voice. But most of all, she hated him for Orla's sake. She had started out her time in the prison as a convict—a murderer like any other. She'd taken down ten men in rapid succession and had gotten life in a triple-max no daylight slam for it. And he never let her forget that she was just property of the prison. No matter that Anatoli had gotten the living arrangements waved after she'd given birth to his daughter, no matter that her name had officially been wiped from the convict books. No matter that she could kill him in a little less than a nanosecond. No matter. He _still_ looked at Orla, _her _child, like a piece of fresh meat and she would one day gut him for it. Slowly. And she would enjoy watching him beg and scream before he died. In the meantime, she made sure that Anatoli knew her feelings and that Orla was never, _ever_ alone with the Boss. But that didn't help that he felt like she belonged to him because she was a convict and even the knowledge that she could skin him didn't change his mind.

"What," he said in that slick, dripping voice of his, "is this?" He held it up. A slender package wrapped in brown cloth. She hated him all the more and promised herself his slow death. Soon. Very soon he would die. A heat in her belly warned her that her temper was rising dangerously high. She couldn't kill him yet.

"It's a package." She said coldly. Orla stood behind her. Somehow the child sensed that the Boss was bad news and had disliked him even as an infant, wailing hysterically whenever he spoke. Anore could feel the little girl's fingers digging into the back of her leg as the tension mounted. "I'd have thought that was obvious." She added snidely. His face darkened.

"And where were you going with it?" He demanded.

"Is that any of your business?" She snapped, at her most chill. She was tempted, just briefly, to slam his head into the stone of the passageway's wall and watch his brains splatter. Orla, watching, stayed her hand and she wondered if the Boss would appreciate the irony that the very thing that made Anore want to skin him alive, was also what was _keeping_ him alive. She doubted it though—he wasn't very smart.

"It is if you're smuggling goods to the prisoners!" he shouted and Orla whimpered. Anore laid one comforting hand atop her baby's head and the other against her belt, where a blade rested comfortably against her stomach. She let him see her do it and watched his eyes bulged with incredulous temper.

"What, exactly, are you accusing me of?" She whispered dangerously. "I'd think carefully."

"You wouldn't dare." He hissed, watching the blade slide from the sheath. He sounded quite confident, but then again, he was too stupid to know the difference between a bluff and a promise. She smiled unpleasantly.

"Wouldn't I?"

"What goes on?" The voice was loud and cool and Anore twitched in irritation that her little 'moment' had been interrupted. Anatoli gathered Orla into his arms, cradling her against his side and glowering at the Boss in a way that couldn't be interpreted as anything but hostile and accusatory.

"We were just discussing the law about carrying packages about in pockets. Apparently, _I'm_ not allowed." Anore said, baiting the Boss with a twitch towards him that made him flinch slightly. He was stupid, but not _that_ stupid. He might believe she was property, but the Hellhounds were property too and they would tear him to pieces just as easily and with a lot less effort.

"Orla should be napping." Anatoli said firmly and pulled his child's arms from around his neck, handing her over to her mother. The package that the Boss had confiscated was removed from the Boss's oily fingers and put in Anatoli's pocket. She sighed and anticipated another ugly fight with Anatoli. The fourth one in three days—not their greatest record. Oh well. She'd just have another round, and she'd win, as she often did. With a firm nudge he sent her on down the passageway with a meaningful look that kept her silent, if seething. She knew she played the dutiful mistress only in public, but she hated acting like anybody's pet. It was together or not at all.

Orla certainly _wasn't_ ready for her nap and the resulting temper tantrum kept Anore busy for an additional twenty minutes, reminding her daughter to keep her nose firmly in the corner until her temper wore off. It gave her time to clean the room, if nothing else. Once Orla was firmly ensconced in her bed and slumbering off her temper, Anore had just enough time to brace herself before her lover descended on her. To her surprise, his temper was rather mild, compared to what she was expecting. Pissing off the Boss was a no-no in Anatoli's opinion and the fact that Anore took every opportunity to threaten and intimidate the man didn't make Anatoli's blood pressure any less. He stood and scowled at her for a long moment before pulling something from his back pocket and waving it under her nose.

"What is this?" He demanded quietly and she had a momentary flash-back to the scene in the passage less than an hour before. And with it came the accompanying homicidal urges. She took a few seconds to wrap her thoughts down tightly, in case he was trying to 'nose' out her feelings. She scowled back at him and snatched it from his fingers.

"It's a present for Orla." She replied coolly and was pleased when he visibly deflated. The innocent little carved bone pipe was beautifully done and Anore looked at it with pleasure and pride. Even the fact that it was a noisemaker and would probably become the bane of her existence made no never mind to her.

"From who…?" He asked warily and she scowled harder, her fingers tightening over the tiny gift. His face darkened and he stepped towards her, lowering his voice, face stiff with anger. "You say to me you'd stopped trafficking with them!" he hissed angrily and she pushed her face in his.

"I lied." She said coldly. "_Somebody_ has to help them, because nobody else on this shithole will and Kyra is my friend. I'm not allowed to see her anymore so I think sending _gifts_ back and forth isn't such a bad compromise."

"They're convicts Anore—they got here by doing horrible things." He rumbled at her and she scowled her most terrible scowl. He flinched, just a little, in the face of her quiet wrath.

"I killed the first time at six years old when _they_ invaded my homeworld. I have killed an _undisclosed_ number of people since then. That doesn't include the ten I got _busted_ for. _I _am here because I did horrible things. _You're_ here because _you_ did terrible things. And I was on the dog-eat-dog end of this prison for _too fucking long_."Her eyes were cold and hard and she felt her stomach tightening down as she spoke. She wasn't sure what her rage was directed at, but Anatoli felt distinctly threatened because he backed off, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking at her with an expressionless face that usually meant he didn't know what to say or think. Fine. Just fine. She held up the pipe. "Never, _ever_ forget how _this_ all got started." She snarled and left. She couldn't be in the room with him at that moment. First him starting on wanting to get married _again_ when they'd had that nasty fight just three days before and now _this_. Soon. Her mind kept saying it. Soon. But how soon? A week soon? A year? Two? She walked in stormy silence down the cramped, foul smelling passageways, feeling a sudden almost heart-breaking urge to see open sky. It had been _so _long! Ten years. And her child, Orla, had never seen the sky. She knew nothing but darkness and the stench of sulphur and the unforgiving heat. Stale air, stale food and the constant companions of the prison guards who were every bit as criminal as those they guarded. Orla didn't even know there _was_ a sky.

She found herself in the Hellhound Kennels. Nobody was about and the lights were off so she slipped inside and looked about the room with her night-eyes. The Hounds screamed a challenge and for once she let her own challenge respond.

The howl that came from her rose above theirs, a crescendo that rose and rose and rose until she thought her chest would explode before she collapsed to her knees in the sudden silence. They knew her now and silvery eyes glittered at her in the dark, gentle whimpers and soft, stuttering purrs met her ears. She crawled to the nearest cage and stuck her hand through the bars, scrubbing the animal behind the ears.

Hellhounds were of uncertain origin, Anore knew, but the term 'hound' wasn't even close to accurate, though a dog might have been in their very distant past genetic line. Now they stood at a near five feet at the withers, heads big enough to bite off an adult human's cranium, heavily armored in shifting scales that also acted as a sort of warning device to their mood, turning a dull, angry red and vibrating like a engine when angered. Their build was more feline than canine and they had lightning fast reflexes and night-vision not unlike Anore's own. They also had a nasty reputation and Anore's start hadn't been helped by the vicious beasts who tried to eat anyone and anything they could bring down on the occasions they were allowed free run in the prison below. Indeed, Anore sported a rather beautiful scar from a Hellhound bite on her right shoulder, before the beast had been subdued and convinced of her standing. Now the creature purred beneath her touch, butting its massive, leathery head against her hand as she scrubbed it behind the ears.

"Oh Raw. Good boy." She whispered. She hadn't named any of the beasts for they were often subject to unannounced 'terminations' when one managed to get a hold of a handler. Which was fairly regularly, considering the stupidity of those who held the job. It was foolish to become attached, so she used one name for them all. They were Raw. It seemed to fit. She picked up a well chewed bone stump and handed it over through the bars. The beast took it gladly, its massive molars grinding the pathetic offering into dry bone-meal in a second or so. She gave its shoulder a slap and moved on, giving each beast a greeting and a rub, feeling better each time. She knew that if anybody caught her, she'd be in trouble, but she just didn't care.

She also knew, sooner or later, she'd have to go back and apologize to her wounded lover. For wounded he would be and with very good reason and she would have to make an attempt to smooth things over. He didn't like allegations to how they'd met and sired a child any more than she liked using it as a weapon against him. But sometimes, he too easily forgot what she really was. And _nobody_ was allowed to do that. Ever.

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End Note: Thanks for reading and please review, I love hearing from people! Naja


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: Nope...not mine. I'm just here to muck about in their universe and generally complicate the character's lives. As an author, i consider it my duty...but i don't own anything to do with Riddick. More's the pity..._

Author's Note: Well, well, well! I must admit surprise, more people like this than I expected. Apparently we're not allowed to give personal thank-yous to everybody on the chapters anymore, so here's a general but genuine thanks to everyone who reviewed, and thanks to those who alerted and favorited, every bit is appreciated! I hope you enjoy this new installment and hope to hear from y'all again! Naja

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She returned exactly three hours later to find Orla lying on her father's chest and the both of them splayed in the bed, sound asleep. She sighed. Orla had obviously woken early from her nap and Anatoli had neglected to try and put her back in her bed. Again. The little tyke knew quite well that her mother wouldn't let her sleep in their bed because she'd been almost impossible to break of the habit as a baby but Anatoli loved to sneak her in so they could all snuggle together—especially if Anore would let her sleep there all night. He never could say no to her. She sighed again and Anatoli started awake, looking first the slumbering cherub on his chest with a sleepy, affectionate smile that would have made butter melt from twenty feet away, then at the somber face of the woman standing over them, arms crossed. He looked chagrined to have been caught, letting his child break the rules. The sheepish smile he offered her didn't melt her temper, but it did a lot for her amusement and she gently scooped the child off his chest trying not to wake her. Instantly, the little girl was awake, blinking blearily and fussing.

"Shush…" Anore whispered, rocking the little one gently, cradling her close so she could wake more slowly but to Anore's surprise, the child subsided back into slumber almost instantly. She shot an accusatory look at Anatoli. "You didn't 'help' her sleep did you?" She said but didn't really mean it. He was always teasing Anore by saying he'd like to slip a little vodka in the girl's juice before naps, to 'help' her sleep. Anore, good thing for Anatoli, knew he was joking. He shook his head, his mood souring as he became more awake. The baby successfully planted back in the crib and the door once more closed, she turned back to him.

He sat on the edge of the bed and for a moment she forgot that he was, like her, a cold-blooded killer who enjoyed a good fight as much as herself. He looked so much like a kicked puppy. She supposed that they both had two sides and that moment she was dealing with the one who would dearly love to be her husband. She went and stood before him.

"I'm sorry." She said as gently as she could. She hated having to say it, but she knew she'd been in the wrong. "What I said was…inexcusable."

"But true." He said sadly.

"Not true. If I'd really thought you wanted to rape me, do you think I'd have let you live long enough to do it?" She asked him, grinning in rather savage way and sitting on the bed next to him. He looked away from her. "You did nothing." She said with a slightly amused smile, and nudged him in the ribs when he snorted. Did nothing was right-witnessed her kicking the asses of several of his buddies and had given it his own go. He'd failed dismally and crawled away from the scene bloodied and defeated and with love in his heart. Poor sap. "You even helped a little. The rest were pathetic fighters, you provided a few minutes amusement." He laughed softly, cheering up a bit. "Besides…you impressed me."

"What?" he asked, surprised. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and sighed.

"I can't love you Anatoli. I told you that from the beginning. But just because I can't love, doesn't mean I'm not a hot-blooded woman and your advance was—"

"Pitiful." He said, rolling his eyes.

"Well it was rather yes." She admitted, grinning savagely when he shot her a mild glare. "But I like forward men and that you _weren't_ trying to rape me came as kind of a shock and even though you're a pathetic fighter, you gave it your best."

"I couldn't kill you… hell, I not get chance!" His voice drifted off and he sighed. "But I was not honorable."

"You always are." She chortled, genuinely laughing at his choice of words. "It's your job remember? And as for being dishonorable so's that I'd care? That first time, you remember? I jumped at you, _I_ practically raped _you_…or maybe we raped each other…I'm fuzzy…" She pretended to be thinking, feeling like a hell-slug for encouraging him. For wanting him to forgive her. It wasn't fair. His fingers trailed down her spine and she let herself forget, for just a second, that the mark on her hand still existed, that the burn on her soul would never really heal. She told herself that she might as well enjoy it, despite the guilt, for Anatoli was quite a capable lover and she was never unsatisfied. And a deal was a deal after all right? She used him for safety and supplies to smuggle to the convicts and he used her as sort of pseudo-wife. A deal was a deal and as she got good sex and a good father for Orla, why not let it be. But she always felt guilty and always rather sad at the end. Always.

The act was swift, both knowing that the child might well wake at any second and while she could neither see nor hear into their bedroom, they disliked the idea anyway. In the hazy afterglow he lay next to her, stroking her hair back from her face and smiling at her. She let out a long, slow breath and closed her eyes, soaking in some of the after-sex euphoria and letting her muscles unwind. He was so very warm and she was so very comfortable, fitted snuggly against him. She loved this time, this brief few minutes after they made love, when the aftermath of intimacy drove everything else away and for those few, precious minutes, she could exist without remembering or feeling.

"Don't worry about Boss." He said suddenly and she started, eyes snapping open. "He's just…in a bad mood."

"That thing _is_ a bad mood." She said fiercely, her warm relaxation vanishing. "And if he tries that shit again I really will kill him."

"He the only thing between you and a Hellhound, I'd not think that." Anatoli reminded her. She grinned, wondering what he'd say if she told him that threat was pretty empty. She could ask the Hellhounds to kill every single living thing in the building and both her and Orla would walk away without a scratch—with a phalanx of the beasts at their sides no less.

"What's his bad mood about this time?" she asked, smirking at the ceiling at her thoughts.

"Just got a new Inmate coming. But it's a big one." He said and rolled over onto his back, staring at the ceiling with her. "Name's Riddick."

"Riddick huh? Sounds like a bad word." She laughed, but something began to ring in the back of her mind. Riddick…Riddick? She picked at a strand of her hair, twining its length around her fingers.

"He's big money. Worth at least nine-hundred K." Her ears perked up a bit.

"That much? What's he for?" She asked turning her head to look at him and watched as he grinned.

"A four time prisoner Breaker champion and got more Mercs under his belt than teeth in his head." He laughed and she joined him, shrugging it off.

"So? Nobody cares about the Mercs do they? You'd think they'd give him a medal for a public service." She laughed again, finger-combing her hair. "Riddick huh." She said softly, trying to remember why the name sounded familiar. Maybe she'd heard a bounty mentioned for him before? Riddick. She sighed and put it from her mind. She heard Orla wake, singing to herself in her niche-crib and rose quickly, pulling on her underwear and shirt and making playful faces at Anatoli as he watched her with a smirk. Inside, she kept turning the name over and over in her mind. Riddick. It was important? She didn't know but as Orla began making demands for food, she put it from her mind entirely. She had other things to worry about.

* * *

Kyra leaned precariously out over the pit that made up the center of the prison level. A shaft that descended an easy thousand feet straight down, and another three hundred in tunnels. Her perch was dangerous, but necessary. All was relatively quiet—as quiet as it ever was in Crematoria—and only one or two other convicts were about. Kyra's band—run by the Guv and Sniper—were somewhere on the bottom level, sleeping. Most people were asleep at that hour, which was why she and Anore had their meetings then. Less witnesses to squeal about where meds and cigs came from.

She checked her route again and, seeing no one, made the leap from the ledge and snatched the rope that dangled over the chasm. Climbing quickly and with agility, she found herself two levels up and still all alone. She hoped Anore had as much luck—and that she'd managed to get their medicines and supplies. She knew Anore took a big chance sneaking about, stealing things that might be missed and Kyra felt a certain impressed awe that the woman was so good that she didn't get caught. Anore, Kyra decided, was as close to a big sister or a mother as she'd ever had.

The top level was unoccupied, the inmates preferring to be as far away from the guards control room as possible and Kyra slipped along the ledge, passed empty cells, silently, and into the narrow winding passage that led up to the guard's control room. There were two gates between them and the control room, both locked so Kyra hunkered down in a shadow beside the first gate, watching the shadows in the control room. All was silent up there, the guards all having gone to their slots long before. She listened, waiting.

And suddenly Anore was there, her frame blocking out the faint light of the control room. Kyra grinned.

"You're good." She whispered, just loud enough for Anore to hear her. "You remind me of a friend of mine." She added and meant it as a compliment. Or an insult. She wasn't sure which it was.

"You guy's holding up?" Anore whispered back, squatting down behind the second gate. Kyra nodded and then answered verbally.

"Pretty well. Reese got ate." She said with cold ferocity and could hear the hiss of anger from Anore—in fact, she thought for a second she saw the woman's gray eyes flash silver in rage. Just a trick of the light though, but it reminded her once again, of Riddick.

"Is Tolm better?"

"Getting there. You got the meds?"

"Enough for another two weeks. We won't get another shipment up here for at least that long. I'm sorry." Anore told her and Kyra sighed.

"Not your fault. How's Orla?"

"Playing that pipe like mad—I think she's actually figured out how to play 'Two Little Princesses' on it." Anore said and Kyra laughed softly. "She's got musical talent, who'd of thunk it?"

"I know right? That kid is the child of dullards, how she manages to breathe is amazing to me." Kyra teased and snatched the stone that Anore chucked at her out of the air.

"Just one dullard." Anore hissed back at her, laughing softly.

"True, too true. He and Tim got into it—Tim's not too great now."

"I heard."

"How do you do it?"Kyra asked suddenly, "Sleep with him—_fuck_ him even—after what he's done?"

"We have a deal." Anore replied coolly. "He protects Orla and keeps me where I can help you all and I play the dutiful mistress."

"Yes but-" Kyra began, Anore made a sound very like a growl—Kyra knew that growl, it meant her mouth was running away and Anore didn't like what it said.

"Got a convict coming in tomorrow." Her voice was cool and Kyra wondered what had her so tense. "Apparently a real baddass. Warn the Guv he gets to do another introduction to Crematoria. The name is Riddick." Kyra thought, for a second, that somebody had slammed a heavy, iron fist into her stomach. Her breath left her in a tight whoosh and her head began to spin.

"Riddick…? Are you sure?"

"Yup. He's a four time Breaker champion and Merc Murderer." Anore said with a savage laugh. Kyra swallowed, trying to get her thoughts back under control.

"What's he look like?"

"Don't know. Why you look like somebody just gutted you?" Anore asked and Kyra sucked in a breath, wiping sweat from her face with the back of her hand. "Riddick…wait a second. Isn't that—"

"Yes." Kyra said tightly. "The man himself. Shining eyes and all."

"Shining eyes?" Anore snored in derision. "A real knight then huh?"

"No. Shining eyes literally. Lying bastard." She added savagely, anger and hurt turning her stomach into a fiery knot. "When I met him, he told me he'd had a shine job on his eyes. Told me to kill a few people and get sent to a slam where I'd never see daylight again. I could pay a doctor twenty Menthol Kools and have eyes like that."

"Eyes like what?" Anore's voice was suddenly sharp. Kyra looked up at her in the dark, Anore's eyes glinted suddenly bright in the outline of her face, reflecting the dim light.

"Like silver. He can see in the dark with them. He lied to me." Kyra was bitter and didn't bother to hide it from the older woman. Anore was silent for a long moment, unmoving as a statue. Frozen.

"You didn't do all this to get his eyes did you?" Anore asked then, her voice strange and distant, Kyra peered up at her through the bars, wondering at her change of mood. Anore could be like that though. She hadn't lied when she'd said Anore reminded her of Riddick somewhat. The same ever-changing personality and the same rigid 'kill or be killed' attitude. The difference however, was that Anore was willing to kill for other's sake, even at her own risk. She had her own personal code, but it was unpredictable at best and seemed as fluid as water. But, she looked after her own, and damn to hell those who got in her way. She wondered if Anore wouldn't even gut Anatoli if given the incentive. She had a feeling that she might.

"No. I didn't. Being here definitely wasn't in my plans, even to be able to see in the dark."

"Is that the one I remind you of?"

"No offense." Kyra said with a faint, mocking laugh. Mocking herself. A long time ago she'd have given anything to have someone say that about her. Hell, she'd even shaved her head for him once. So much for idol worship.

"None taken. Look. I've got to go, here." A hand appeared in the darkness, through the bars of the first gate and Kyra deftly caught the heavy package that Anore threw to her. "Take care of yourself Kyra. I'll see you soon."

"Give a kiss to Orla for me. I've got another present for her, in the works."

"She's going to be badly spoiled by Aunt Kyra." Anore joked, but she sounded distracted. "Take care." She said again and suddenly she vanished. Neatly, silently and without a trace. Kyra grinned fiercely in her wake. Yes, Anore was a lot like Riddick, only more human and she was willing to risk her neck for others. And now he was coming. Tomorrow even. She leaned against the wall, cradling the package for a long moment, her heart a steady thumping rhythm in her chest. Riddick. She closed her eyes and took a slow, deep breath. She'd better think of appropriate welcome for him. Something painful, if she had her way. Something to show how much she missed him and how much she hated him. She simply couldn't wait.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Nope, Riddick and his compatriots are not mine. For additional info, see previous disclaimers :)

Author's Note: Thanks so much for everyone who reviewed! I really enjoy hearing from you guys! Ok...I speak Russian, but only very poorly, and I don't read it well at all so I haven't included much of the beautiful Russian language into this piece, but I'll apologize to anyone ahead of time, because Russian has it's own written language, Cyrillic, and so the English translation of the couple words I've added in here, is purely phonetic and not at all how it's actually written. I know that probably nobody cares, but hey, I thought I'd say so anyways. And as always, enjoy and thanks for reading!

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_Anore wasn't surprised to open her eyes and find herself standing on the Graveworld again. She knew it's true name, couldn't forget in fact, but it hadn't been Furya in so long…it was nothing but a grave now. The hot sun beat down on her unprotected back and she looked down at herself, surprised to see that she wore a battle uniform of a hardened leather corset, chain mail tunic and trousers composed of hardened leather scales. A sword was in her right hand, a wicked, curve ceremonial Bat'Tah in the left, glinting viciously in the bright sunlight. Before her sat five graves she knew, for she had seen them before in her dreams. Her parent's and her three siblings lay beneath her dream-feet. Her stomach twisted around a grief as hard and unyielding as stone. She couldn't remember their faces after so long, but she remembered her love of them and a sweet, rolling laugh that might have belonged to any of them. Tiny memories, token memories. Egean had remembered more, he being a little older than she when the homeworld was invaded. He had even remembered a little of their language, teaching her what he knew in painful, halting sentences. They had been the last. She wondered if his grave was out there somewhere and if she could find it. _

_ "Feel the pain." Anore spun, but the voice came from nowhere. It was familiar though and Anore spotted the lone Tree in the distance. That image was part of her Niv'Et Nal brand on her left palm, a symbol of her marriage and their bond to each other and to their homeworld. "Let the anger flow into you." _

_ "It was a long time ago." Anore said softly, but didn't say it with conviction. A hand rested on her shoulder suddenly, briefly, but when Anore turned, the woman's ghost had vanished. _

_ "Look around you. This is Furya." _

_ "Furya." Anore said softly, letting the word roll around in her mouth. Egean had taught her that too, but it had been too long since she'd said it. Her heart tightened in her chest and her belly began to warm. Anger. Good old fashioned anger. _

_ "Look around at these graves. At these victims. We couldn't stop them, thirty years ago. But the time is coming that they must fall." _

_ "Who?" _

_ "Remember." The woman's voice whispered against her ear and Anore didn't bother to try and look. "Remember who destroyed us." A warmth in her chest, a heat against her right breast that burned like fire. A cold, pulsing light began to fill her vision and Anore closed her dream eyes against the brilliance, feeling as if her night-lenses had been caught in full daylight! "Remember Anore'Et Fet- Brissa. Remember." The pain spread, a hot, cleansing pain that seared her soul but she felt no fear. A hand was pressed against her breast, hard and unyielding, a touch so familiar that for a moment ANore could almost put a name to the owner of that hand... "Remember." _

Anore snapped awake, panting. Anatoli still slumbered peacefully beside her and Crematoria was equally silent. Riddick. The man who might be her kind! Hope surged in her, but she beat it down again—she had to keep her mind clear, clear of ambient feelings that might distract her. She sat up, throwing back the blankets and rising. She dressed quickly, braided her long hair back and retrieved her waiting daughter from her niche-crib, leaving their rooms under the cover of darkness. Once in the kitchen, she set her daughter down on the counter.

"Be careful." She warned as Orla squirmed around, trying to reach the container of sugar-cubes against the wall. "And none of that." She added, grabbing her daughter's reaching hand.

"I'm _starving_." Orla said by way of excuse, grinning precociously at her mother's arch look.

"Blast Yorgi in a furnace for teaching you that phrase. Eat this." She set some of the previous breakfast's sausages in front of her 'starving' child, who snatched up one in each hand and began to chew ferociously. "And don't eat with your mouth open. Am I raising a heathen!" The last she emphasized by tickling Orla's sides and the child squirmed, laughing happily.

"Yup. I'm a hezan." She announced cheerfully, taking another obnoxiously large bite of her sausage.

"Heathen. Heath-en. And stop it, really, before you choke." Anore began gathering ingredients for breakfast biscuits and bacon, knowing the crew would bitch and complain that they'd eaten that only two days ago but they'd eat it anyway. She could have fixed the same thing every day and they'd have eaten it, out of sheer laziness.

"What's a heathen?" Orla asked, taking a smaller bite and watching flour sift down into a bowl. Anore wondered if all children were as intelligent as her own, or if it was just her own bad luck to have one as precious and adorable and smart as Orla. She gave her daughter a smile that Anatoli would have given his soul to have directed at him. She planted a kiss on Orla's head as she passed her.

"It's somebody with really bad manners." Anore replied and began plopping batter onto trays and sticking them in the huge, thermal heated ovens. Next she went to the cooling units and got out bacon, lying it out on slabs of waxed parchment and putting those in the oven next to the biscuits. It was easier and faster than pan frying it all.

"Oh." Orla said and looked up cheerfully as one of the crew entered, blinking sleepily. "You're a heathen!" She told the man and Anore turned, laughing at the surprised look on his face. It was Yorgi, a short, squat Russian with thinning blonde hair, a rat-like face and a halfway tolerable disposition. On a scale of one to ten, Anore's desire to kill him was in the five range. Not bad for the guards of Crematoria.

"Yeah well you're a—"

"Yorgi, complete that sentence and you'll discover that a spoon can be a dangerous weapon." She said easily, giving him a glare that sent him scurrying to the table, no questions asked.

"Spoons?" Anatoli entered and Orla cheered.

"Dada!" She cried happily and was scooped up in his arms and twirled around.

"You sleep good my little anuka?" He asked, depositing a kiss on her cheek. Anore's gut twisted in a rather violent manner, watching him tickle and cuddle the child. She did her best, most of the time, to try pretend that Anatoli was only a sort of surrogate father to Orla. She knew this thinking wasn't fair but it helped _her_ conscience at least. She watched as he turned Orla upside down and blew raspberries on her stomach, making the child shriek with laughter. At that moment it was impossible to pretend. Orla was Anatoli's child as much as she was Anore's and he loved her even more fiercely than he loved even her mother. Anore hated herself in that moment, so completely that, for an instant, she couldn't breathe. Oh how completely she hated herself.

"Goodmorning." Anatoli's face suddenly loomed and she accepted his kiss with a faint guilty squirm in her stomach. Guilt? Why guilt? She pretended she didn't know why.

"Goodmorning." She said, distractedly. "Breakfast is almost ready."

"Not soon enough." The Boss's oily voice drove back her uncomfortable feelings and Anore stiffened. Anatoli's free hand rested on her hip, a strangely protective, supportive gesture that made her grin derisively. She didn't need protection—if anybody did, it was the little twerp who was even then spouting off abuse and orders to anybody who would listen. Orla had gotten quiet the moment the Boss appeared and Anatoli was making an effort to distract her from the greasy little cretin—it wasn't working. Orla began to sniffle and the Boss sneered. "Shut that little—" Something deep in Anore, weakened by stress and uneasy dreams, suddenly snapped.

Anore whirled, broke away from Anatoli and loomed over the Boss, who actually stopped speaking as the room grew silent.

"Go ahead. Keep talking. I dare you." She said softly and his eyes bulged.

"I think you're getting a little too comfortable around here Convict. Remember your place." He snarled and she glowered at him with as much of her hatred as she could put into one expression.

"Leave her alone." Anatoli's voice was low but as hard as iron and twice as sharp. The Boss's attention turned to his henchman and the kitchen was ominously still as the air began to vibrate with tension and controlled rage. "I said, leave her alone."

"I might if you could control her better." The Boss obviously didn't see the slightly murderous expression on Anatoli's face. The others did—they were looking back and forth between the two and obviously trying to gauge whose side to take in the possible fight. Most seemed to favor Anatoli, out of sheer muscular power. "I'm warning you now—teach your whore some manners or—"

"Or what?" Anatoli took a step forward. Orla was genuinely crying now and Anore gave up the battle in favor of her child, taking her from her father's arms and rocking her gently. "Eeli _shtow_?" Anore knew how angry Anatoli was, when he switched back to his native tongue.

The Boss seemed at a sudden loss for words when faced with Anatoli's deceptively still face and cold, angry eyes. Anore had seen that look on her lover's face before—just before he'd beaten one of the convicts into a whimpering, bloody pulp. The man of violence had taken over and the Boss was finally beginning to realize he was facing the other side of his henchman—the one that favored blood and broken bone to taking orders. After a long, frozen, unsteady moment in which Anore backed slowly out of range just in case the two men actually met in combat (and to be out of the way of the blood splatters from the Boss's ruined corpse), the tension broke.

"Don't talk to my kid. And don't talk to my woman. Not ever." Anatoli issued his threats in a low hiss, through clenched teeth before he shoved past the frozen Boss and sat at the table, commanding the entire space with his anger. The others moved away from him, in tiny, tentative squirms. Anore grinned savagely at the Boss's undecided face and rocked Orla gently.

"Your biscuits are burning." She announced before she turned and left the kitchen to take Orla back to their rooms to try and calm her. The baby wasn't in the mood to be calmed though and continued to cry pitifully.

"It's all right my little angel." Anore whispered, rocking her and stroking her tear-stained cheeks. "It's all right. Dada wouldn't let the scary man hurt you." She said and didn't add that Momma would have gladly skinned him alive too.

"I 'ate him." The child whispered tearfully and Anore looked down at her in surprise, wondering if the baby really knew what she said. Really _understood_ the weight of the word 'hate'.

"We don't use the word hate." Anore corrected her automatically, then sighed when Orla gave a tearful sigh too.

"But I _do_. I 'ate him. He's mean and he smells." Orla said sullenly and Anore suddenly laughed, kissing her cheek.

"Yes, he does doesn't he? I guess it's ok for you to hate him. But don't hate just anybody Orla, really _mean_ it if you do." Anore wondered if this were slightly hypocritical advice to give her three year old, but decided, what the hell, what else could she say? Her head hurt. Riddick. The name popped into her mind and she forced it back down again. She would have to think about it later, when she could devote some time to it. And her hope. Her tiny, vain hope that Riddick's 'silver' eyes weren't a cosmetic surgical procedure. Her tiny, flickering, _painful_ hope. Hope that maybe she wasn't alone after all.

"Momma?" Orla was watching her mother's face and Anore automatically schooled her features into a pleasant but ambiguous face.

"Yup? Why don't we go take a bath? _And _you get soap, a piece of that special bar Dada bought for us!" And without waiting for Orla's cry of joy—which she knew was coming—she set the girl on her hip and gathered up a towel and two clean changes of clothing for them both, then found the tiny, precious sliver of soap Anatoli had spent good money for, ordered from the check-station, several years before. Anore couldn't remember the last time she'd used it on herself, only Orla got to enjoy smelling nice—for herself, Anore used a handful of sand, like everybody else.

Orla loved having a bath, mainly because the 'shower' was a large stone hall with a grit floor and the water poured down from a natural fissure, warmed by volcanic vents. The water drained away into six huge metal grates, then its journey took it down to the prison level. Once the door was closed firmly and locked, the two stripped down and Orla ran screaming into the water, laughing hysterically.

"Don't slip!" Anore warned a little too late as the child did a face plant beneath one of the jets. She was uninjured however and got up, still laughing to dance ecstatically in the water, Anore laughing happily as she watched her. It was one of those rare moments of easy joy, of relaxed calm and Anore relished it. Riddick. That name again! She felt her stomach knot around the name, replaying Kyra's words over and over again in her mind. '_Silver. He can see in the dark with them_.' But he'd told Kyra they were a shine job, a lie? Or a truth? Her entire being wished it was a lie.

"Momma look!" Anore focused in time to see Orla dive onto a smooth part of the floor, sliding across the slippery stone, shrieking happily all the while and Anore's heart jerked as the girl stopped only a foot from the stone wall.

"That's not a good game baby." Anore grabbed her daughter, who squealed in protest but allowed herself to be soaped up, from head to toe and then dunked under the water streams. "There, a clean baby. No more stinkiness." She tickled the girl who shrieked and tried to escape. "No more stinky Orla!"

"I'm not stinky! You're stinky!"

"You're right, I am _stinky_! Go finish rinsing while I get clean." Anore released her child and looked at the tiny sudsy handful that was all that remained of the soap bar. _Well…better not to waste it_ she thought and went about scrubbing her mane of long, heavy hair with the suds and washing the rest of her with a handful of clean sand, scrubbing until her skin stung. Riddick. Damn. Well, she would know this afternoon she supposed, for better or worse. Would he know her? Her and Egean had met by chance as teenagers, more desperation and twist of fate than anything else but…if he was, if he really was her kind, he would bear the Mark. Her hand pressed her chest, where an invisible hand print lingered. The Mark of the Shaman. If he were her kind, he would bear the same mark…but how to reveal it without anybody else seeing? It could glow right through thin fabric, and sometimes there could be a small 'surge' of energy, leaving both people drained and everybody around them fully aware they were different. It was how she and Egean had…

"Momma!" Orla was doing a funny little dance, warms waving in the air and feet stomping.

"I see you!" Anore replied, grinning distractedly and rinsing the soap from her hair and the sand from her limbs. "What kind of dance is that?"

"It's a water dance!" Orla crowed and jumped, doing a little wiggle in mid-air. Anore laughed. "Dance, dance, dance!" Orla chanted, wiggling and giggling her way in a rough circle. Anore grinned at her affectionately. She hated to break up her fun, but she wanted to catch Anatoli when he came home after breakfast, to grill him about when Riddick was coming in.

"Come on my little dancer." Anore called and received a scowl in response. "Come on! If you stay in there much longer you'll shrivel right up, like a raisin!"

"I will not!" Orla yelled back, but looked at her little fingers anyway. Anore took the opportunity to swoop in and scoop her up, squealing in protest.

"Yes you will my little raisin! You'll shrivel right up and become a little Orla raisin!" Anore sang as she dried off her squirming child and forced her dress over her head.

"I want to be a raisin!" Orla protested, trying not to laugh as her mother found her ticklish spots in the process of dressing her. "I don't like this dress!"

"It's your Dada's favorite, now hold still!" Anore laced the back of the girl's dress and tied it in a big bow before freeing her. "And don't you dare go anywhere _near _that water young lady, or I'll tan your hide!" Orla grinned mischievously, but didn't get in the water. Instead she dug around in her pile of dirty clothes and pulled out the little bone pipe her Aunt Kyra had made for her and began tootling away at it. Anore dried quickly, pulling her sodden hair up into a rough bun on top of her head and dressed in a clean set of underwear, bra and trousers, then one of Anatoli's huge shirts atop it all. She pulled on her boots, shoved Orla's feet into her own boots and collected their soiled clothing and towels.

Her timing was perfect, Anatoli had returned to their room and was glowering darkly at a stack of info-screens he had piled beside him on the bed. He brightened when Orla appeared, playing what sounded like a tortured version of 'Hush Little Baby'. She ended her solo with a high pitched note that made both Anore and Anatoli wince, but he lavished her with praise anyway. Anore dumped her armload of dirty clothes and towel in a basket reserved for that purpose and hung the towels up to dry. Glancing at her lover, she made a mental note to remind him to bathe later. As if reading her mind he got up and embraced her, burying his face in her damp hair.

"You smell good." He murmured and she chuckled.

"You don't." She told him honestly and he laughed, releasing her.

"I wash tonight, before I come to sleep." He added the last with a suggestive look and she shot him a warning glance, nodding at Orla—but the girl wasn't paying the least bit of attention. She had dug a rough wooden doll from somewhere and was murmuring a story to it, while she brushed it's non-existence hair. He grinned and let her go, going back to the bed and glowering again at the stack of info-screens. She noticed, with some relief, that he was studiously _not_ mentioning the incident in the kitchen that morning. She was rather glad of that.

"What's that?" She pointed at the stack of screens.

"Supply rosters and bank vids. It's time for Guild screening." Anatoli replied and she guessed at his bad humor—the Boss was punishing him by making him go through the tedious lists of all the supplies ordered over one year, and how they'd been distributed, what they'd cost and how much they could be reimbursed for. It was boring stuff, mostly organizational and she knew she'd probably end up doing half of it, out of sheer pity for him.

"When's the Big One coming in?" Anore asked as casually as she could. She wondered if it was only her imagination that made her sound slightly eager.

"Another three hours —they pass last checkpoint this morning early so they'll be on approach pretty soon. Head Merc's name's Toombs."

"We worked with him before?" She asked, as they talked she was picking up dirty laundry and piling it in the dirty basket, and straightening the room's general chaos. Orla was sitting against one wall, her pipe between her lips and the doll in her arms, blowing meaningless notes and rocking the doll gently.

"Probably, but they all alike." Anatoli said uncharitably. Mercs and Guards were notoriously enemies, going all the way back to the dawn of time and their mutual hostility was all about one thing: money. Mercs wanted the bounty for their catches while the Guards wanted as much cash as they could squeeze out of the Guild, which meant they didn't want to have to pay the Mercs their full fee if they didn't have too. Anore had always wondered why the Guards were so interested in cash, when there was nowhere to spend it. It especially applied to Crematoria, when the Guards were often there their entire lives, leaving only once or twice in all that time. Anatoli hadn't gone farther than then hanger in almost twelve years. She wondered if that contributed a lot to the fact that Anatoli and the rest of the crew were as criminal as their charges. And not figuratively either. She realized Anatoli had been speaking to her, "And you know drill, keep out of way until convict is below and Mercs are gone. This Toombs guy seemed pretty full of himself; don't want you in any trouble."

"I'll be fine." She said automatically, "I know what to do." She said and meant it. She knew exactly what she was going to do. It was a bit of a cheap trick, she knew, but it might work and Orla could behave and be quiet if bribed properly. She grinned absently and saw Anatoli frown at the expression before she controlled it. "Don't worry." She said and went about her cleaning.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Naja


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: See previous disclaimers :)

Author's Note: I thought I'd upload two chappies, since I've been so lazy about uploading. Enjoy and thanks for reading! Naja

* * *

Anore sat in waiting, just outside the control room door, listening to the goings on inside. The Merc ship had just entered the hangar and the Boss's agitation was growing by the second, he was swearing at everyone in sight. Orla was playing just down the hall and Anore prayed that nobody opened the door until she was ready. She heard the exercise weights being shifted around and from the sound of it, she could guess it was Anatoli—only he could bench enough weight to make that distinctive 'thunk, boom' as the bar went into the cradle. She heard Yorgi singing a lurid song in Russian, not loud enough for the Boss to swear at him though, then the beep of the computer systems.

Orla appeared and climbed into her lap, whispering something to her in Russian that she didn't catch, she shushed her and began to rock her gently until she squirmed for release. In the control room everything suddenly got quiet. In the sudden silence, Anore could hear the scream of the sled's skids on the tracks. Almost time. She glanced at Orla, hoping the child would play nicely while Anore made her entrance into the control room to get a good look at Riddick. She had done her best to keep her thoughts tightly locked down, in case Anatoli's 'nose' was on the alert. Now she closed her eyes and tried to place everyone in the control room. The control room was circular, like a cork that fit into the top of the prison shaft. It was situated on top of three giant screws that, when in need of new air, could raise the control room from its depth of thirty kilometers deep to the surface where the air processors would exchange the air. It was also then that they dumped waste and dead bodies. The control panels for the air processors, gauges and computer functions were situated around the outer edge of the circle. The Boss's desk was near the door where Anore was hiding. Anatoli and his weight bench were across the room, furthest from her, by the doors to the sled-house. The center of the floor was a grate and a hole, through which they lowered the convicts by rope, a thousand feet down, to the bottom of Crematoria. It was a kind of initiation rite, she supposed. And a nasty one at that. You had to survive the initial attacks of the other inmates and get off the rope, then figure out how to break your handcuffs later. She remembered it well.

A groan indicated that the sled-house doors were opening and new voices could be heard. Heavy footsteps and someone swearing, the clank and creak of chains.

"So. This is Riddick." The Boss's greasy voice was recognizable anywhere, even muted and Anore rolled her eyes. More chains clanking, the creak of leather and the squeal of the rope being pulled from the pulley. Now. Anore glanced at Orla, who had stopped playing and was watching her with interest. She turned her back on the girl and pushed the door open, just a little, peeking through. Damn! All she could see was somebody's backside! She pushed it a little wider and stood up to peer through.

"I'm Toombs." A man was saying, his voice like grinding gravel. "And this here's my crew. So…what's it gonna be?" She could barely see around the figure standing in her way and she realized with some irritation that it was Yorgi, but her view of most of the room was still blocked. A small presence was suddenly pressing against her leg and she looked down in time to see Orla slip through the crack in the door.

"Orla!" She hissed, angrily, "Girl get back here!" The child ignored her and pranced into the room. Everything went suddenly quiet.

"Dada! Look what I can do!" Orla was oblivious to the tension in the room, and nobody moved as Anore shoved passed Yorgi and reached for the child.

"Orla! Come back here!" Anore's hand missed when Orla ducked and Anore fought back an appreciative grin at her agility as the child danced out of range. In an instant, everything was moving again.

"Get out of here!" The Boss shouted angrily, glowering at her like an irritated piglet.

"Cool your jets jackass." She snapped back at him and made a grab for Orla, who evaded her mother yet again. Suddenly the child froze. And looked up, then up some more. Anore realized what had happened and wondered if it was fear, or excitement that made her pulse stutter. Orla was standing in front of Riddick, huge green eyes bright with interest as she looked up at the huge man. And he was _huge_. He was taller even than Anatoli and muscles rippled along his lean form as he moved. Even chained, there was a kind of nervous, waiting energy that seemed to say he'd spring into action at any moment. A handsome face with full lips and high cheekbones, his head was shaved and he wore a pair of dark goggles covering his eyes. _Why_? She wondered, feeling a thrill.

"What's your name?" He spoke in a voice like grinding stones, deep and ominous but Orla just grinned. She dealt with scary on a daily basis.

"Orla Gustavavich. What's yours?"

"Richard B. Riddick." The huge man replied, grinning. He looked up at Anore, his goggled eyes travelling down her length and up again to her face. His grin widened. "Cute kid." He told her and she fought the urge to laugh. The Boss was still yelling, alternating in English and Russian and Anore knew her time was running out—she should make a quick exit and try and get more info later. The only trouble was…if she got too close to him, and he was her kind, then the whole damn room would probably know. It wasn't a problem she'd thought of until now…Anatoli was suddenly there, scooping up Orla in his arms and Anore felt a thrill of relief.

"It's naptime." He said firmly and Orla protested immediately.

"But Dada!" She began, "I'm not tired!" She did, however, allow herself to be handed to her mother, who gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek and returned Anatoli's un-amused glower with an unrepentant grin.

"Sorry to interrupt."She apologized snidely, taking another quick glance around. The Toombs man was tall and well built, with the typical Merc sneer and unkempt appearance. His crew wasn't too impressive by her standards, though the only woman in the bunch looked like she meant business and her serious, hard eyes were unforgiving and unyielding when met. Anatoli gave her a shove towards the door and she allowed herself to be herded…slowly. He surprised her when he whispered in her ear, just before he shoved her out the door.

"Stay away now, I smell trouble." He kissed her lips and shut the door. Trouble? Anore scowled. What kind of trouble? Damn the man for his mysterious 'nose'! Couldn't it be more specific? Orla was smiling happily and Anore knew she ought to move on before the girl got bored and started complaining—and they got caught eavesdropping again. She hesitated only a second, then with a grin she pressed her ear to the door, listening. The pulley system was whirring—Riddick was descending into the pit.

"So, what's it gonna be?" Toombs asked and she heard the shifting of bodies about in the space, the clank of Anatoli's weights and the creak of leather.

"Here's your sevenhundred K." the Boss's tone implied he was doing them a favor. Anore laughed into her fist. Anatoli had told her that Riddick was worth nine hundred K, at the least. She wondered if the Mercs knew that. There was a long pause, then a distinct 'thunk' and the pulley stopped whining.

"What in the bowels of Christ are you talking about, seven hundred K?" Toombs's voice had lowered a notch and his position had changed—she guessed he'd been the one to shut off the pulley.

"Don't take this one Boss." Anatoli said, still at his weight bench, she guessed.

"You see, Anatoli here has a nose for trouble," The Boss said and she sneered—for once, he was talking sense. "And this one, this Riddick,"

"Big, big trouble." Anatoli embellished and there was the clank of the weights being set down again. Typical Anatoli, she thought, never seeming to give the situation more than half his attention…or so it usually appeared.

"So seven hundred _thousand_ is good money!" The Boss's voice had moved across the room and the pulley system had been started up again.

"The Guild pays us a caretakers fee for each prisoner, each year." That voice was Robert, one of the few Guards who had been stationed at Crematoria within the last five years. He was also the one whom she'd beaten into a whimpering pulp at least twice during the last two years of her tenure as a convict, for trying to jump the gun and _take_ without asking. "We pay Mercs twenty percent of that fee, based on a certain life expectancy." Anore could hear the welcoming clamor from the prison below, the priming of the gauntlet Riddick would get to run once he was lowered into the pit all the way. It was a kind of warning system, letting all the inmates and convicts alike know that there was fresh meat on the market.

"How's about this?" Toombs again, his voice hard and smug. "You open up that safe you got hidden behind the console there and take a look at the real books, then we'll figure out my cut, _then_ I'll be on my way."The tension in the room was escalating and Anore thought it might actually be better if she got Orla out of the way, in case a fire-fight broke out. From the tight, angry air that the space beyond the door was rapidly filling with, somebody would probably start blasting off at some point.

"Open my books. This is what you suggest?" The Boss was just as smug and oily and confident. _Toombs and the Boss ought to marry,_ she thought, amused,_ greasy bastards are meant for each other_. She heard chairs scraping on the floor and the faint click of weaponry.

"Wasn't a suggestion." Toomb's was near the Boss's desk. They were probably having a visual standoff, an implied pissing contest, or something similar. Anatoli's weight's weren't clanking anymore. The pulley shut off once more. More tense silence and Anore once more glanced at her daughter, whose eyes were sleepy, her head resting on Anore's shoulder. She really ought to take Orla to bed, but she was too curious to leave just then. Liquid was splashing and after a second, the Boss spoke again.

"These are, dangerous days. If you believe the talk." He had changed the subject and wsas probably pouring a round of vodka for both him and Toombs—The Boss was under the false impression that he was both subtle and gracious.

"Talk?" Toombs again.

"About dead planets. About some ghost army. About _them_." The Boss said and Anore snorted. She'd heard the talk too and knew it to be true. After all, that ghost army hadn't been so ghostly in her childhood had it? Or later. They hadn't been ghosts to Egean.

"Them?" Toombs snorted, scornfully. "Just old wives tales to frighten children." He said disdainfully and there was a long, hard pause in which Anore contemplated his unique stupidity.

"I'll run the numbers again. It takes a couple of days probably." The Boss's chair scraped and people began moving about again, the room relaxing almost tangibly. "So, you can stay as my guests. At least here, we are all safe." _Safe is relative_ Anore thought derisively and turned to capture Orla before the child got bored enough to wander off.

"I'll give it a day. One." Toombs said coldly and the room fell silent again. Anore snorted and left. Mercs and Guards, age old enemies. What worried her more was her frustration at her failure. She'd not gotten close enough to determine if Riddick was her kind and his goggles had made a look at his eyes impossible. Though…why would he wear goggles? Kyra had said his eyes were silver, which could mean he was like her. But the goggles would seem to suggest that he needed protection against light, which would mean he couldn't retract the lenses, meaning they were surgically placed and not natural lenses. Her hopes plummeted and she fought back a growl of frustration. No way to tell. Maybe he just used the goggles so he could use his night-lenses without people seeing. No way to tell, yet again. Anore sighed heavily and returned with Orla to their room. What else was there to do after all?

* * *

"Goddamn Mercs." Anatoli grumbled under his breath. It was lunchtime and said Mercs were at the table, muttering amongst each other in low whispers. Anatoli held Orla against him, while she played quietly with her wooden doll. She seemed rather subdued, Anore thought and wondered if perhaps it wouldn't be best if they ate in their room after she'd served everyone.

"Just smile and mind your p's and q's." Anore hissed back at him and he sighed. He leaned against the counter next to her and she shoved him aside so she could reach the cooling unit. The Boss was making snide commentary to Toombs, who was leaning insolently back in his chair, sneering around at everything. Anore wished there might be a way to slip crushed glass into the sandwich she was making for him, but, she supposed, if she couldn't do it for the Crew than she couldn't do it for him.

"I don't want ham." Orla said softly and Anore sighed.

"You're not getting ham, you're getting peanut butter and jelly."

"I like peanut butter and jelly!"

"Good." Anatoli said quietly and shoved off the counter to set his daughter in her chair. "Because you drive your mummy up a wall." He ruffled her hair and she grinned at him.

"That's _not_ where she's driving me." Anore gritted her teeth as the Boss sneered at her. "All right guys, ham on the left, peanut and jelly on the right. I don't cut crusts and I don't cut diagonals." She announced to the room at large. "There's potato fries on the tray. Help yourselves. Orla, chew with your mouth closed." She added and patted her baby on the head as she took a chair by her. And also, consequently, by the female mercenary. She was curious after all and she might be able to buddy up to the woman. Anatoli sat with his plate on the other side, blocking off access to his child so the Boss had to sit with Toombs. Anore grinned into her sandwich. They immediately started a caged, underhand verbal battle. She turned her attention to the woman.

"Where you coming from?" She asked, it seemed a fairly safe topic. Without even looking, she reached back and pulled Orla's sandwich from her fingers and broke it into a manageable bite, before the entire sandwich had disappeared into the girl's mouth in one massive, gooey mess. The woman watched this and actually smiled faintly.

"Helion Prime." She said shortly but that little smile encouraged Anore.

"Never been there. Shining world of light."

"Just too damned bright." Toombs interjected, smiling snidely. "You're not missing anythin' 'cept maybe a good suntan."

"You get good suntan here. Step outside for a spell." The Boss said coolly and the verbal sparring began again. It was almost funny, watching the two greedy piggy-eyed fools go at it. Anore watched for a second then turned her attention back to the woman.

"I'm Anore." She offered a hand to the woman, who looked at her for a long, hard second before she took it, squeezing hard.

"I'm Eve." Anore returned the pressure with just enough more to bring a little sparkle of respect into Eve's cold eyes. She let go before she would have broken the woman's fingers. "Been here long?"

"Ten years."

"In this hole?"

"I call it home." Anore parried that little thrust easily and Eve's smile widened a touch. The woman nodded at Orla, who was licking peanut butter off her fingers.

"How old?" Orla gave the woman a little giggle and Eve's smile widened a little more.

"Three next month. You got any?" Anore was impatient to change the topic over to Riddick, but knew better than to push her luck. Eve's face suddenly tightened and her eyes seemed to cloud over.

"Yeah." She said tightly and said nothing more. Anore jumped before she had a chance to freeze up again.

"She's my only one. I got lucky, she's a good girl, aren't you?"

"Dada says I'm an angel!" Orla announced and Anatoli chuckled.

"I only say that when you nap good." He told her. "Other times I don't say that." Eve relaxed again and Anore thought maybe she might be able to broach the subject of Riddick.

"So, this Riddick guy. Looked like one hell of a badass." Anore leaned a little closer to Eve, grinning conspiratorially. "Not bad looking either." She added and Eve's eyes brightened with amusement. Yes…she'd definitely opened up a little avenue for female bonding.

"No, he's not bad." Eve conceded and glanced at Toombs, who was still yapping away at the Boss. Everyone's attention was focused on the two men at the moment and Eve leaned a little closer too. "That ass was worth his smart mouth."

"I'm an ass girl too myself." Anore grinned and her and Eve shared a female look of understanding. Eve glanced at Anatoli and arched an eyebrow. "Oh yes." Anore nodded wisely. "Be not fooled by outward appearances of quiet subservience, the man is a stallion." Eve snorted and they shared a lecherous chuckle. "But what's with those goggles? Kind of well, stupid ain't they?"

"He's got weird eyes. They're silver. Toombs says he can see in the dark with them but strong light hurts him, so he wears the goggles." Eve confided and Anore pretended to be disdainful.

"A mutant?"

"Probably surgical, people do weird shit. And he's more fucked up than most."

"Oh? How so?"

"He's a Merc killer." Eve sneered angrily and Anore controlled the urge to roll her eyes. Considering that the Mercs could be considered Convict killers, she rather thought the playing field was pretty even.

"I heard." She said instead. "He's got a record a mile long." This conversation wasn't getting her anywhere, though it was rather interesting to watch Eve's face as she spoke. Obviously the woman didn't get much chance to speak to other females. She wondered how she could back out gracefully.

"Not just his record. The man's a fucking weird duckling." Eve hissed at Anore, who didn't bother to correct her language as Orla was out of her chair and bouncing happily on Anatoli's knee. She wondered if Anatoli was cultivating the image of a gentle, harmless father to lull the Mercs into a false sense of security. It was working, one way or another. Eve leaned closer still, eyes bright. "He can fight off hypersleep drugs." Anore's ears perked up.

"What?" She asked, eyes keen and Eve looked pleased to have a receptive audience. She glanced at the others, who weren't paying the two women the least bit of attention. Toombs was showing off, tossing a knife into the air and several of the Crew were muttering ominously in Russian, though she guessed they were just making noise.

"We put him in suspension." Eve began, "He was out, had enough drugs in him to tranquilize a fucking mule team. Everybody else went in rest period, I woke up to…check things out," Eve grinned lecherously and Anore picked up what she meant. She'd given Riddick an 'inspection' when she thought he was comatose. "He was fucking awake! He was awake and talked to me! His drips were still working, the drugs still running and the man was completely, fully aware!" Anore's heart soared, relief and realized hope making her suddenly giddy. He was one of hers. She _knew_ it now.

"That's far out. He's one—" Anore was interrupted when the Boss stood up, skidding his chair back noisily.

"How about you come see one of our entertainments here? Anatoli, Robert, go sound the alarm." The Boss flashed her an ugly grin when her face darkened in suppressed anger. Feeding Time. When the Hellhounds were let out into the prison shaft to hunt the inmates at their leisure. According to the Guards, it saved money on meat and gave the Hellhounds a little exercise. It also got the inmates in their cells so the guards could have a little free run of the place, going about and 'disciplining' as they saw fit. She stood up and snatched Orla from Anatoli's lap, giving him a hard, cold look when he wouldn't look at her. He knew how much she hated it. She had to control the urge to spontaneously smash his face to pulp for it.

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End Note: Hope you liked it, and if you've got a sec, please review! I love reviews :)


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: please see previous disclaimers :), thanxs

Author's Note: Heys everybody, short chapter here, but hey, at least it's an update right :) anyways, I'm still so surprised the people like reading this story as much as I like writing it! Thanks to everybody who has favorited this! I'm surprised, but gratified! Anyways, thanks for reading, please enjoy this next short installment, and more next time! Naja

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Kyra nursed her rage, squatting on a ledge on the side of the shaft, scowling into the hot, humid air. Riddick. The sonofabitch. Anger and hurt burned in her belly, turning her stomach into a pit of fire and her head throbbed with unshed tears and angry thoughts. She needed somebody to talk to, to swear at and she was glad she'd found the small piece of shining metal just inside the second gate. Anore was looking for her. She could tell Anore all about it. Anore would understand.

Crematorian night had fallen and Kyra was just waiting now, waiting for the perfect moment. Which was…now. The lights-out period had arrived and lights suddenly faded, leaving only the faint orange and red glow of the lava flows that ran below the prison shaft and Kyra leaped from her ledge, climbing quickly and agilely up the side of the shaft. She slipped through the shadows and found herself before the first gate, where she sat and crossed her legs, waiting.

"Interesting hiding spot." Kyra jumped, metal flashing into her hand and she was on her feet. Silver eyes shone at her in the dark and she snarled.

"Go find somebody else to annoy." She snapped and sat down again. Riddick's frame was hidden in the dark, but she heard his bulk moving, the soft, furtive scrape of his boots on the stone as he crouched across from her.

"I can't think of anybody I like better to annoy." He told her and she heard him laughing, the soft puff-puff of his breath escaping. She wondered what he'd do if she cut his throat. Not that she'd get the chance, he'd have her neck snapped like a twig before she'd move half an inch. "What are you doing up here?"

"Meeting someone."

"Who? A boyfriend? You use protection?" Riddick's voice ground her nerves and she thought of several very inventive ways to kill him.

"No. I'm meeting Anore."

"Who?"

"Anore. She's a good friend of mine. She steals things for us." Kyra said with gritted teeth. "Now get fucking lost."

"Tall woman, got world class tits and long brown hair? Mother of one of the guard's spawn?" Kyra's patience snapped and she showed him her blade.

"_Shut your mouth Riddick._ Anore and Orla are good people, unlike you. _She_ used to be a convict here, until three years ago when Anatoli got her pregnant and he took her topside. Now she helps us out, steals medicine and supplies for us. Gives us news. _She_ actually cares about people, so why don't you get the hell out of here before I show you how little I care about _you_."

"Don't have to be so defensive kid."

"I think she'd just like to be left alone." Anore's voice was light and slightly amused. Riddick whirled, tensing and Kyra chuckled breathily, turning to acknowledge the woman who'd just snuck up on the famously aware Riddick. "Hello Kyra."

"Nor!" Kyra greeted her cheerfully, dismissing Riddick with a turned shoulder—though she wasn't quite brave enough to turn her back on him. He was too unpredictable. "Whatcha got?"

"I got a question. Something's got the Boss all hot and bothered about you Riddick. Anatoli's nose is practically screaming out loud and the Boss wasted good platinum to make a deep space long-wave call to our check-station. Had them do a deep space scan for any ships might be pursuing you." Anore's voice was hard, cold and angry. "What did you bring with you, stranger?"

"What are you talking about?"

"The Boss is still up, waiting for the response to that call he made. That's not like him. He's not usually that aware." Anore snorted in derision. "I have good friends down there in that hole with you and my _daughter_ to think about. What, exactly, is it about you that's got everybody so worried?" Anore's frame blocked out the light from the control room and even though they couldn't see her face (well, she couldn't but Riddick could) Kyra could bet her eyes were fixed on him, intense and waiting. Kyra had been pinned by that gaze enough to know what it felt like—rather like being scanned by lasers, every inch of you suddenly exposed to critical attention. Riddick was silent for a long moment before he drew in a slow, insolent breath. Apparently Anore's famous, impervious, piercing gaze had no affect on him. Or he was faking.

"Necromongers." He said and Kyra looked at him, curious, then swiveled her eyes back to Anore, when the woman drew in a sharp breath and cursed.

"The Gray Ones follow you?"

"I don't know their cute little nicknames, but ten to one it's them." Riddick said coldly. "I take it you know of them, not just rumors."

"I know of them. I've had more than one unpleasant run-in with them." Anore paused but when nobody said anything she continued, "If they follow you we have problems."

"What are Necromongers?"Kyra demanded, looking between the two. She anticipated a good complain session with Anore, but the meeting was turning more and more into some sort of conspiracy plan! Damn Riddick!

"They're bad news." Anore said flatly, "They're religious fanatics who believe that by dying in this universe they get to go to a Paradise called Underverse."

"Where they all live happily ever after, blah, blah, blah." Riddick said derisively. "If it is them, and you're so helpful lady, why don't you help us out of here?"

"How long has it been since you left Helion? How much of a head start did you get?"

"Only about two days."

"We have some, but not much time then. I agree, we're getting the hell out of here. I don't have access to the gate codes or else I'd have broken out a long time ago and the Mercs have the only ship. Whatever we do has to be done before they leave, taking our only transport with them."

"There's no others?"

"No. The guards are as much a part of Crematoria as the convicts, we get a supply ship every three weeks, but it stays only long enough to drop supplies in the hangar and go. And that's a good thirty klicks from here—"Anore suddenly broke off and the three fell silent. A voice could be heard somewhere above them and Anore turned back to them quickly. "I must go, we'll meet tomorrow night. Oh and Kyra—beautiful work on the Brute Squad."

"Thanks." Kyra said, pleased. "How'dja know?"

"I'd recognized your handiwork anywhere. And by the way, Anatoli's got a few additional licks coming from me for _that_."Anore's voice hardened into a savage, merciless hiss. "I think he'll think twice about scraping with anybody for a while. Be careful _enta_ and I'll see what I can find out." And then she was gone. Riddick looked at her vacant spot with something like respect and Kyra grinned.

"Interesting." Riddick said magnanimously. Kyra's grin widened.

"Now, about these Necros."

"Let's get away from here before somebody hears." Riddick snapped and vanished into the darkness. Kyra groaned to herself and punched the stone wall before getting to her feet. Sometimes, she'd just love to beat his face in for being so…so…so controlling.

Anore lay quietly in wait. Orla was fast asleep in her bed, the door firmly closed. She wouldn't hear a thing. She sat, cross legged, in the center of the bed and waited. She knew he was postponing coming home, she knew _he_ knew what was coming. The swollen bruise on his throat had been sign enough without the lacerations on his arms and the egg on his head. The damage done to the others had been more than enough to tell her who'd been responsible and what the unlucky bunch had been up too. Anatoli knew better. He'd been warned about picking fights with _her_ friends. He could beat all he wanted on the Inmates, but the Convicts weren't his territory. It had been a long time since he'd broken the rules…anger tickled her spine and she waited. _Patiently_. Kyra had given him a proper beating, but he would know her displeasure too.

The door opened and her lover stood, uncertain, in the doorway. It was dark in the room, so he couldn't see her, and she was risking her night-lenses so she could enjoy the apprehension on his face. He looked like she wanted him too, as if he somehow _knew_ she was there, and had an ugly premonition of what was about to happen. She saw his nostrils flare trying to scent her out with that famous 'nose' and she grinned savagely. He stepped inside and the door slid closed behind him. She rose to her feet silently and she saw him stiffen, as if he sensed her state of mind. He really did know her far too well.

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End note: Thanks for reading, until next time friends! Naja


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: yeah...So I haven't updated in...well...a really long time. To be fair I had good reasons, but it's really no excuse for THIS long of an absence. So if anyone is still reading this, please accept my apologies...and my thanks!

Disclaimer: See previous disclaimers.

Anore hadn't been exaggerating when she'd said that the Boss was agitated as hell. Even though the Mercs didn't show their faces all day, he was as jumpy as a nervous virgin at her first dance. He barked orders at everybody, punched Robert in the face for a casual word and had let loose the Hellhounds into the prison shaft again in less than twenty four hours. He was freaking out about something and everybody tiptoed around.

Anatoli himself was very subdued and was as close to meek as she'd ever seen him, giving into her every demand without a fuss and shooting her kicked-puppy looks when he thought she wasn't looking. She fought a smile down at how easily she'd cowed him. One slap and he'd been down, asking for forgiveness. She couldn't be sure how much of his apology was based on genuine regret and how much was fear of her vicious temper. He remembered well just how much pain she could inflict on him, if really enraged. Sleeping on the floor hadn't done much for his aching muscles either and he moved stiffly, cautiously around her.

Not a Merc poked a greasy nose into the control room all day and as night fell, Anore wondered what exactly was going down. And what the Boss had planned. He had called everybody together just after sundown and they'd been in the control room for well over an hour and a half. When they'd come out, Anatoli had asked her in his nicest, most sweet voice if she wouldn't mind getting together their clothes and Orla's toys. When she asked him why, he'd shrugged apologetically. But she could guess.

Necromongers. The Gray Ones. Whatever the Boss had learned from his call must have scared the daylights out of him—he was tucking tail and running from the scene. Which meant that the Necro's were coming! As Anore began packing up Orla's dresses and her and Anatoli's few belongings, she began to think fast. Somehow, she must get a warning to Kyra and the others. The Guards would never let her near the gates and besides, it was useless to go there without somebody there to listen. Nobody was sleeping tonight and the control room was crawling with people. Anore scowled and stuffed a tunic into a satchel. Damnit all to hell! She hoped Kyra and Riddick wouldn't show up at the gate—though she could imagine that they wouldn't, being able to see from down below that everybody was up and about. That would have to be warning enough, she thought grimly. She'd warn them if the opportunity and the means presented itself but if she couldn't they'd have to figure it out for themselves. Damnit. She didn't want to leave Kyra and the others! Not to _them_!

"Anore!" Anatoli's urgent voice snapped her back from her thoughts. "Hurry!"

"Why?" She demanded, playing dumb, stalling. He appeared in their doorway and Orla went to him automatically and he scooped her up. She'd been very quiet, watching her mother stuffing her things into bags, eyes wide. Now she buried her face in her father's neck, clutching her little bone pipe and doll against her body.

"Please love." He said, flinching as she turned fiery eyes on him. "Just hurry, _pazjhalusta_. We're leaving now, just dump the rest of it."He said and picked up one of the two satchels.

"What's going on?"

"Something's coming. _They_ are coming. We go before they get here and ghost us all." He held Orla a little closer and Anore felt her anger soften a little—he was genuinely concerned and she could guess why. The thought of Orla, her precious baby, going the way Egean had done, the way her people had, made her feel sick and frightened too. She nodded and shouldered the other satchel, even allowing him to wrap an arm around her waist as they hurried along the passage.

The control room was a flurry of activity. All the guards were there, the Boss was shouting orders and Anore allowed Anatoli to guide her around the edge of the crowded room and behind the Boss's desk, where he knelt and yanked the fake console back to reveal the prison safe.

"They're coming!" Somebody shouted and suddenly the entire room exploded into action. Instantly, about fifteen of the guards vaporized into the walls, hiding themselves away behind doors and other various concealed spots. The Boss scowled and everybody else assumed languid poses of inaction. Robert and Yorgi started playing chess with their ammunition and everybody else lounged around the room. Only Anatoli was still moving, shoving the contents of the safe into a bag. A moment or so later the sled slammed into the buffer at the end of the track and footsteps could be heard. Anatoli gave Anore a hard look and motioned her out of the room, as the Mercs appeared in the doorway to the sled-house. Anore gathered Orla into her arms and held her close, the child pale faced and silent in the strange, tense atmosphere.

"Good news first." The Boss began, obviously working the Mercs, getting them to relax and come further into the trap. Anore scowled and eased her way passed Anatoli, who gave her thigh a squeeze as she passed-encouraging she supposed. She had to get out of the room before the idiots let blaze their firearms, or at least get under cover! The fools! Their plan was suddenly clear, in all its juvenile simplicity. Clean out the safe, ghost the mercs and steal their ship, leaving everybody else on Crematoria as fodder for the Necros. Eve met her eyes and Anore did her best to school her features before the other woman saw anything in her face that gave her away. Too late. Eve scowled and slid away from Toombs, deeper into the room and spotted Anatoli, emptying the safe. The Boss seemed to realize he hadn't captured his audience. "I talked things over with my amigos here. We'll cut you in for seven-seventy-five K." The Boss walked by his desk, picking up an info screen and scowling at the surface of it. What was on it? Anore was almost to the door, moving slowly and carefully. Eve was watching her. There was something like grudging amusement in her eyes. Toombs noticed nothing unusual, grinning in greedy pleasure.

"Well all right." He said, pleased. "What's the bad news? You close the local whore-house?" He laughed too loudly, slapping his hands together, his joke falling into the middle of a flat, dead silence. Eve's eyes narrowed. _Too smart that woman_, Anore thought. She was at the door, but couldn't open it yet, without giving the game away and as much as she hated the Crew, she could at least get off planet with them. The Mercs would leave them _all_ here to die. Orla was crying softly, eyes wide and fixed on the tense, angry faces around her. Her fingers were tangled tightly in her mother's hair, her tiny body trembling. Anore couldn't comfort her. It was about to get worse.

"No." The Boss said coldly and closed the distance between Toombs and himself. "The bad news is worse than that. Much worse. Our pilot, he saw _this_." He slapped the info-screen into Toomb's hands and the other man looked at it, keying up the image and focusing it. His face tightened. "It crossed a shipping lane. Any idea what this might be?" The Boss dripped sarcasm and Toombs's face darkened and played over with a variety of emotions before he managed to spit out an answer.

"Never seen anything like it." He said, his lie blatant and careless. The Boss stiffened and the room suddenly tensed. The soft click of bullets going into guns echoed like shouts in the quiet. Anore pressed her back against the door, whispering gently to her baby to hold on, and don't be scared. Worthless advice really. Anatoli had crept around and now stood in front of her, broad back squared, shielding her. She wanted to snap at him that they wouldn't need protection if the idiots hadn't gotten themselves into this mess!

"That ship trace back to Helion Prime." The Boss goaded him. By now the Mercs were fully aware of the danger they were in, and weapons were being drawn quite openly. Eve had her back against a wall, dark eyes scanning the space expertly, seeing everything. "Anatoli here has got a nose for trouble…and, he thinks, trouble follows you here." The Boss gave Toombs a searching, hard glare.

"Look. We dusted our tracks and got the hell out of there!" Toombs snapped angrily, throwing the screen down. "There's no way we didn't lose them!" The room seemed to suddenly slow, the silence was overwhelming. He'd as much as signed their death warrants and everybody knew it. Toombs flushed angrily as the Boss turned away, face cold with triumphant rage.

"Them?" The Boss replied snidely.

"This is my prisoner." Toombs was stalking up behind him, angry and foolish. "_Mine_. Nobody elses…" The Boss snorted. "I want my money now."

"You stole a prisoner, from _them_!" The Boss snarled and Toombs moved. His elbow crashed down on the Boss's head and the Boss dropped to the floor. And then the world exploded.

Anore lunged to the floor, Orla under her, the child screaming in terror and Anore shielding her as best she could with her body! Bullets ricocheted over their heads! Lights exploded, electricity crackled! Anore felt sparks sear the back of her neck and somebody tripped over her, landing on her legs in a painful heap. Orla was still screaming, and Anore covered her head with her arms and prayed for the best.

A hard, ground shaking explosion suddenly split the air, somebody screamed so loud Anore's ear drums ached and then, suddenly, all was silent.

"Are you all right?" Anatoli was leaning over them, his face bleeding from a new laceration and Anore nodded, picking herself up and cradling the terrified child to her breast. With quick, nervous hands Anore searched her baby's body and breathed a sigh of relief when she found no wounds.

"We're fine."

"Orla?" he reached out to embrace them and touched the back of the girl's head.

"Scared out of her mind and in need of years of therapy." Anore snapped, unforgiving and Anatoli flinched slightly.

"If you can run, get your asses up! Let's go!" The Boss was yelling, rubbing the back of his neck and scowling around. About only ten guards got to their feet. Ten out of twenty. The Mercs had done some damage for being so badly outnumbered. Anore jiggled the terrified Orla and glanced around the room. The damage was severe and it looked as if none of the Mercs had made it. The emergency lights illuminated the scene of destruction in a faint, blush haze of gunsmoke and spitting electrical sparks. One quick glance through the sled-house door said that the sled hadn't made it either. That explosion had been a rocket that had wiped out the sled for good. They would have to make their run on foot, down the patrol tunnel. It was a good thirty klick run. She shot a glance at the center of the room. The grate that led down into prison shaft was open. She looked at the others. Anatoli was shouldering the satchel containing the safe's contents, the Boss had already vanished into the sled-house and everybody was following.

"Come on." Anatoli held out his hand to her and she took it, then swore and passed a frightened, trembling Orla over to her father. "Come on Nor!"

"Just a second." She snapped and lunged for the hole. The rope was occupied by Toombs, a hundred feet down.

"What are you doing!" Anatoli grabbed her shoulder.

"What the hell is holding you up!" The Boss's voice was joined by the swearing of Robert and Yorgi. "Get the bitch moving or I'll leave her behind!" Anore sucked in a deep breath.

"Kyra! Necros!" She screamed with all her might and heard the Boss swear in vehement Russian.

"Anore!" Anatoli yelled in dismay and she sat up, turned and saw Robert's face loom in her vision.

"Bitch!" he snarled and shoved her. Caught off balance, at the edge of the hole, Anore shrieked in surprised, lunge forward and grabbed him just in time for both of them to topple into the hole and vanish into space. Robert screamed and she kicked him, shoving him away from her and into empty air.

Air whipped by her and Anore twisted in air, arms splayed wide, searching for something, _anything_, to grab onto. Soft cord met her grasp and she seized it. It burned through her hands, she gritted her teeth and felt her fall slow and finally stop. She panted and got her bearings. She was dangling from the rope a good ninety feet down. Just below her was Toombs, glaring at her with all the hatred he could manage. Robert's splattered corpse was five hundred feet below her, a speck of white against a lava flow.

"Fuck!" She swore angrily and looked up. Anatoli's face loomed in the hole.

"Anore!" He yelled down to her, anxiously and she felt her stomach jerk. By the time she reached the top, the Boss would have left them and sealed the door. Her Orla might be forever trapped here. Indecision tore at her heart and in an instant she made her grim, bitter choice.

"Orla!" She shouted back at him. Toombs was yelling below her and she thought she heard Kyra's voice, but tuned them out. Anatoli's eyes met hers, so far above her and for an instant, they understood each other perfectly. His face twisted in bitter pain and grief, then vanished. Her heart, which she had long ago thought a smoking hole, gave a spasm of pain and she felt her eyes begin to burn and blur. She blinked back her tears.

End Note: Thank you and reviews are love! Or rather, reviews ARE loved... :D Naja


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